


The Silverchurch Mystery

by MLP_Mike



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - 19th Century, F/F, F/M, Fantasy, Private Investigators, Science Fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-14
Updated: 2015-09-23
Packaged: 2018-04-09 10:26:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 84,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4344926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MLP_Mike/pseuds/MLP_Mike
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Egbert, recent migrant to the town of Silverchurch, finds himself employed as the mildly unwilling assistant to Terezi Pyrope, an eccentric private detective, who spends most of her time solving supernatural mysteries and just basically acting weird. Together, they must work to bring a serial murderer to justice, survive life in a nineteenth century alternate universe, and possibly find hate-love???</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Help Wanted

=> Be John Egbert

You are now John Egbert. Which means that things aren’t really going the way you had originally planned. That is to say: the once ridiculous notion that you would be able to pick up your entire life, travel cross-country for over two thousand miles, and settle down in a brand new town with no housing, no job, no friends or family, and very little money is starting to seem like a really shit idea.

What would your father say if he knew you were dragging your tattered suitcase through the muddy scum that passes for the main street in this ruddy little town? He’d probably give you a stern look of fatherly disapproval, followed by a firm pat on your shoulder as he guides you back whence you’d come, aboard the train once more, and all the way home.

Too bad the train you rode in on has already departed again. Also your dad is dead.

You pass a rowdy-looking pub, windows aglow with warmth, and debate for a second whether or not you should venture inside. It would be nice to dry off for a second, step out of the rain and shake the droplets from your hair like a sopping dog on the wooden floorboards. You don’t have any money though, and you doubt whatever pub landlord that owns the place will let you stay long without buying at least drink.

That’s how things worked in the big city anyways and besides, you already have a destination in mind, and you catch sight of it quickly as you near the very heart of the town.

“Silverchurch,” You read the heading of the large message board aloud.  “friendliest town around, home of the original _silver church_.”

You peek around the board and see the titular church, nestled in the middle of a grassy park beyond, and frown. The church sucks. Its steeple is crooked, its doors and windows are barred with wooden planks, and the damn thing isn’t even silver. Although, in the building’s defense, the murky weather currently trying to dampen your mood might be working against whatever charisma earned the church its place as the town’s namesake. Maybe, under the clear skies, the walls glisten like precious metal and choirs of angles greet all who step over the splintery threshold.

You doubt it, though. The place looks pretty crap.

Turning your attention back to the board, you scan it for advertisements. One of the many valuable lessons imparted on you by your late father was to always keep your priorities straight, and right now, in this new and unfamiliar place, the first thing you’re going to need is a steady source of money.

To get money, you need a job.

You see several “Help Wanted” posters, most of which have been ripped to shreds by the elements or buried under a myriad of other crap. One poster, sporting an unpleasant drawing of some smug-looking prick, boasts that _‘any event, social party, birthday party, office party, baby shower is going to suck major dong without some bodacious beats. If you want to pump up the jam, talk to Dave E. Strider, rhyme master extraordinaire, located near the east end between that one coffee shop and the creepy-ass library that no one goes into e-‘_

The rest of the advertisement is missing, having been torn away violently at some point in the past. You doubt you’re be looking to acquire Mister Strider’s services any time soon, at least not until you know enough people here to throw an actual party.

You scan the rest of the board, looking for something, anything that might fit your needs. Just when you think that you’re screwed, you see it: a tiny note tucked away at the very bottom corner of the board. You struggle for a second, kneeling awkwardly so that you can read the note. It’s horribly messy, nearly unintelligible, but you manage to get the gist of it.

_‘Assistant Wanted! $5 a week! No prior experience needed! See 413 Windyshade Ln!”_

Whoever posted the notice was obviously short for space, as the small note barely fit the required information. Swiping the parchment from the board, you stuff it into your coat pocket and clamber upright again. The paper folds crisply, which is a good sign you suppose, since that means it probably wasn’t posted too long ago.

You just hope that the job is still available.

Locating Windyshade Lane is easy, since there are only like six streets in the entire town of Silverchurch. Finding number four-thirteen, is a little bit more of a challenge. You eventually find it on your third pass up and down the street, squeezed like a nut in a vice between two drab-looking tenements. The first thing you notice, like most things you’ve seen in Silverchurch so far, is that four-thirteen looks as if it was picked up by some giant dog, chewed on for a bit, and then thrown away again, a gnarled-up mess.

You could go into detail describing how rundown the place looks, but you’re much too tired for that, and you’re already eagerly scampering up the front steps, impatient to finally get out of the rain. Your knuckles hover a few inches from the front door briefly, as you notice that the wooden surface has been stained a bright, cherry red. It seems to burn your eyes for a second, but you blink quickly and it passes soon after.

You knock.

Nothing happens for a several moments. You hold your breath and drum your fingers on the handle of your suitcase, the rain continues to settle in your hair, and the door glares at you, almost angrily. Then there is a furious barrage of footsteps, which cause you to jump, followed by a brief pause, then a series of rapid _clicks_.

You barely have time to register that the _clicks_ must be about a dozen or so locks being unfastened before the door is flung wide open.

“Yeesss??” It’s a woman, that much you recognize immediately. Her greeting stretches unnervingly, like taffy pulled too thin, and for not the first time in your life, you find yourself momentarily immobile at the sight of her.

She’s… not unattractive, you’ve never been one to label someone like that, but she is certainly _odd_. Her limbs are rail-thin and spindly, despite her short stature, like that of a spider. Her hair, dark as coal, is cut short, with uneven scissors and  her mouth- oh geez, her mouth. Lips as thin as paper, pulled back in a smile so wide it looks as if you might lose your footing and tumble between her teeth, which seem to be inhumanly numerous, like that of a shark’s maw.

Her eyes are hidden behind red-tinted glass, perched atop a pointed nose, and instead of a dress or skirt, she’s clothed in a pair of black trousers, matched in color by her loose cotton shirt. You find that your own eyes have strayed up and down her body several times, from her sharply curved eyebrows down to her bare feet, before she speaks again.

“Hello? You knocked, right?” Her shrill voice hits you like a blast of cold air and you shiver as you snap back to attention.

“Uh, yeah!” You respond louder than you intended, feeling slightly ashamed to have been staring. “I’m sorry, I’m new here. I found this on the board in the middle of town.” You fish out the job listing and thrust it out proudly. “You live here, right? Are you the one looking for an assistant?”

She doesn’t take the note from you or even acknowledge that you’re offering it to her. You face burns uncomfortably, and you’re starting to doubt if you’re making a good impression or not.

“Who’s asking?” She asks.

“John.” You answer quickly. “John Egbert. I’m new-“

“New in town, yeah. You just said that.” She interrupts, finishing your sentence and causing more heat to flush your face. “When did you get here?”

“Just under an hour ago.” You’re still holding the job note out like an idiot. “Are you the one that posted the message? What’s your name?”

“You ask a lot of questions.” She muses, tapping a long nail against a sharp chin. In all honesty, you’ve only asked a mere handful of questions thus far and so far she’s neglected to answer most of them. “That’s good, funny. Not many questioners out there nowadays, a lot of acceptors, but not many questioners. No sir. Hehe.”

She chuckles, like she’s thinking of a pleasant memory, and before you can respond awkwardly again, she reaches out, past your hand with the note, and seizes you by the lapel.

“Step into my office, Egbert.” She purrs, and pulls you inside. The door closes with a hard _snap_ and you can no longer hear the rain.

* * *

The inside of four-thirteen isn’t much better than the outside, if a little more intriguing and bizarre. The narrow hallway beyond the door is cluttered with many boxes, filled to the brim with loose papers. The possible owner of the building/your possible new employer/your possible murderer tugs you down the hallway and to a fork in the corridor. You catch a glimpse of an equally cluttered living area and a set of rickety stairs before you’re pulled in an opposite direction and through an entryway. A door had once separated the office from the hallway, but it’s missing now, leaving only a set of bronze hinges mounted on the door frame. The stranger’s office, easily recognizable for the large wooden desk, is also filed with many paper-filled boxes, but with the added addition of numerous, poorly built shelves.

You eyes dance over the room, and the aforementioned shelves, taking in the stranger’s odd collection of trinkets and nik-naks. A large curved tusk, from some type of massive mammal, is pinned atop the far wall, a set of medieval swords rests by the door, a pair of golden boots is nestled amidst a row of books, and a half-eaten bowl of moldy cereal sits behind a glass case. Your new acquaintance releases you in the middle of the room and you spin lazily, taking it all in.

“What is all this stuff?” You ask, dimly aware that your companion is moving about the room. “Are you some kind of junk hoarder or something?”

“No, _obviously_ , everything here holds immense value.” You eye the cereal from a distance as she collects a cane from where it leans against her desk, turns a precise forty-five degrees, steps over a box of stethoscopes, and joins you in the middle of the room. “Don’t touch anything, by the way, unless you want the pants to be cursed right off of you. Hehehe.” She grasps the cane like a sword and prods you in the chest, causing you to wince. “You think you’ve got the chops for this job, Egbert?”

“I think so.” You answer automatically, then add: “But er- maybe you should tell me what the job actually _is_ , just to be sure.”

“You’re going to be my assistant, dummy.”

“Well, yeah. I know that much, but what am I going to be assisting you in doing?” You’re eyes sweep the room again. “Trash collecting?”

“No, idiot. I’m a private detective, of course! There’s a fine line between the honest citizens of Silverchurch and the dastardly scum that prey off the innocent. I walk that line with a tight-walker’s precision, keeping each side of the impasse under control, just the way they belong.” She swipes her cane through the air and strikes you on the side of your leg, causing you to yelp in surprise. “Knee brace.” She identifies quickly. “Iron and leather, custom-made, expensive, provides structural support to weakened joints. Were you a sickly child, Egbert?”

“Just _John_ please, ma’am. And yeah.” You admit. “When I was a kid I had chon-“

“Chondromalacia, yes, yes.” She circles around you, still prodding with her cane. “I could tell from your stride that you had a brace and knew how to wear it. I suppose one could say that you’re _weak in the knees_. HAHAHaha!” She cackles widely then, like she’d just tripped upon the funniest joke ever, of all time. She trails off quickly though. “Hehehe. _Nothing_ gets past me, no sir.”

“Uh-huh.” You wonder if you can make it to the door before she has time to slice you up into little pieces of delicious, yet gullible, idiot for midnight snack or whatever her plan may be. You feel slightly uncomfortable at the thought of doing any kind of assisting for a lunatic. “You know, you still haven’t told me your name yet. Some people would think that’s rude.”

“You think I care what _some_ people think?” She steps close then, and you flinch as she perches on the tips of her toes, her face a mere inch away from your own. You can smell something strong and musky wafting off of her, count every freckle scattered across the bridge of her nose, and hear every short breath she takes, like the steady whistle of a steam engine. A long, thin finger travels up between the pair of you, and for a second you fear she’s going to scratch you with a nail, but instead, she hooks the edge of her glasses and lifts them slightly, allowing you to see her eyes beneath. “If I were you, Egbert, I’d worry less about what _some_ people thought, and more about what you-yourself thought, because in the end, you won’t be left with anyone but yourself to judge.”

You’re entranced by the milky-white iris before you, lost in the unfocused pupils, horrified to discover that you’ve been behaving so irresponsibly in the presence of a lady for so long, let alone a blind one! You want to formulate an apology and offer some chivalrous courtesy, perhaps make her a cup of tea or help her climb the stairs. Instead you proclaim:

“What?”

Her glasses fall before her eyes again and you blink as you’re faced once more by her red glare.

“We’ve got some work to do with you, oh yes indeed. Hehe.” She chuckles, ignoring you once more. “That’ll make sense to you one day. In the meantime, I only give my name to those I trust, keeps things much simpler. Let me walk you through the job requirements.”

She tucks her cane under her arm and paces in front of you, like a drill sergeant. She strides the length of the room and back again, over and over, each time turning away from the wall or some other obstacle a split second before colliding with it. You have to resist calling out a warning as she narrowly dodges a comically large hookah.

“As my assistant, there are several responsibilities that you’ll have to undertake.” She begins. “Firstly, you’re to shadow me on every case, record relevant data, and assist me in bringing unsavory wrongdoers to justice!” She swipes her cane through the air at the end of that sentence, creating a satisfying _whoosh_. “You’ll deal with paperwork, handle our finances, and basically leave all the fun detective stuff to me. Also,” She jabs a thumb over her shoulder towards a crowded shelf, where you see a large mason jar stuffed with dollar bills. “You’ll be in charge of the _collateral damage fund_.”

“What’s the collateral damage fund?” You ask, curious.

“It’s to pay for any...” She weighs her next word carefully. “ _Risks_ that may arise during the course of a case. I like to play things fast and loose, Egbert, and there’s no time to waste compensating people for trivial things such as destruction of property and accidental kidnapping.”

“Accidental kidnapping?”

“I have a spare room upstairs.” She continues, as if she didn’t hear you. “You can turn that into your office if you want, although I have to ask that you don’t make any drastic changes to anything in this house. Everything is,” She pauses to nudge a stray box a few inches to the left with her toes. “In it’s proper place.”

“I think I can manage that.”And really, now that she’s keeping her distance, you think that you _can_ , at least for a little while. Now that you’ve heard what the job entails, you’re starting to think that perhaps you can do the odd bit of paperwork for a while, until you get on your feet and find better employment, that is. “So what kind of crimes do you solve?”

“Oh nothing too major, some stolen property here or there, a missing person’s case, the odd murder, and…” She pauses once more, you assume for dramatic effect. “The occasional _anomaly_. Hehe”

“What kind of anomaly?” You ask.

She folds her arms and regards you for a moment.

“Do you believe in magic, Egbert?” She questions eventually.

“Magic?” Your back straightens at that, and for the first time, you notice that your new friend is a good head shorter than you. “Well, of course I belive in magic! Who doesn’t? In fact,” Your suitcase, which has so far been sitting patiently by your side, gets flipped turn-aways and undressed on the hardwood floor. “I think I might have just the thing right here.”

A little too eager to leave a good impression on this stranger, you fumble through your meager belongings as she picks at her nails and crooks her head towards you with feigned interest. Despite you being the only sighted individual in the room, you’re quick to obscure your briefs under a bundle of other clothes as you retrieve your magician’s kit from the bottom of your suitcase. Tired and flustered you may be, that’s no excuse to not behave a gentleman.

“What the hell are you doing?” She asks, as you rise to your full height once more.

“Just bear with me for a second. Prepare to be amazed!” This is your realm now. For the first time since meeting this woman, _you_ are the one holding all the cards, metaphorically and literally. “Pick a card, any card. Right here.” You thrust a fanned selection of cards towards her and, after a moment of plain exaggeration, she reaches out and plucks one out of your hand.

“What am I supposed to do?” She asks, lip curving absurdly. “Look at it? Ha!”

“No! No. Just hold onto it for a second.” You may be a little absent-minded sometimes, but you’re not daft enough to forget her… condition so soon after finding it out. “Now, I want you to tear it in half and then tear it in half again. You know, into fours.”

She does so quickly and you smile, happy that she’s willing to participate.

“Alright!” You continue excitedly and stow away the rest of the cards. “Now give the pieces back to me. As you can tell, there’s nothing else in my hands _besides_ the torn up card pieces, right?”

“Mhmm.” She hums in agreement as she runs her fingers over your palms. It’s an innocent touch, one that you actually asked for yourself. However, that doesn’t stop goosebumps from racing up your forearms from the point of contact.

“N-nothing up my sleeves?” You manage to keep your voice even.

“Nope.” She checks.

“Alrighty then!” With a deafening slap, you press your palms together and execute a little sleight of hand. You quickly reach up, past your singular audience’s cheek, and into her incredibly dry hair to the curve of her ear. One perfectly executed flourish later and you present her with her original card, whole once more and completely un-torn. You grin. “Is this the sort of magic you’re talking about, milady?”

 She takes the card.

“No.” She answers with soul-crushing finality. “And this isn’t my card at all. It’s shorter width-wise and this corner here,” She taps the edge of the card. “Is bent inwards from when you stashed it in your breast pocket. That was a cute show, Egbert, but if you’re thinking of picking up this schlock as an actual profession, I’d suggest you work on your mendaciousness and, more than anything else, showmanship.”

“Showmanship?” You’re aghast. “I’m about as flamboyant as they come!”

“That’s for sure. Hehe.” She flicks the card away from her and drifts down to land back in your open suitcase. You frown down at it, a little upset that she’d caught on to the switch. She presses on despite your disappointment: “The magical aberrations that I investigate, Houdini, are less the type to leave your eyes rolling and more the type to leave you with no eyes whatsoever. To put it succinctly,” She folds her arms, a smug grin contorting her mouth. “There _are_ in fact things that go bump in the night, I just so happen to be the type of person that bumps back! Haha!”

“I see, interesting.” You’re pretty sure that’s a quote from something, but you aren’t entirely sure. Also, you aren’t being all that attentive presently, too embarrassed to have been smacked down mid-trick and too busy hastening to stow away your magic kit once more. You search for a topic for which to shift the conversation. “Uh, the advertisement you posted said that you were offering five dollars per week. Is that going to be paid up front or bi-weekly, or cash or check, or… something else?”

She had begun to pace once more, but stops then and turns back towards you and, now that you notice, her aim is slightly off. She addresses a crooked painting of a pirate ship just over your shoulder.

“I’ll be paying you three dollars a week.” She states squarely.

“But the advertisement says five.”

“No it doesn’t.”

“Yes it does!” You feel a pout coming on. Defiantly, you produce the note and hold it out for her again, without thinking: “See for yourself- or er, _feel_ for yourself?... I’m going to be honest; I’ve never met a blind person before. Forgive me if I’m making a fool of myself.”

“It’s to be expected.” She takes the note and runs her fingers lightly over the parchment for a few seconds, even bringing it up to her nose for a quick sniff. “Hmmmm.” She hums.

“So.” You shift nervously. “Five dollars…” You trail off as she shoves the paper into her mouth and swallows it after a few quick chews. “What the fuck?”

“The agreed upon amount is three dollars.” She proclaims.

“But the note-“

“What note? I don’t see a note?” She leans in close. “I’m _blind_ remember?? Hehehe.”

You feel the air deflate from your lungs. In the past few minutes you’ve experienced a veritable smorgasbord of confusing emotions. You’ve felt melancholy, excited, confused, embarrassed, terrified, and a little aroused, all in the presence of this woman. What felt like a shaky job opportunity at best had transformed from impossible possibility, to slight chance, down to bad idea quicker than you could even process everything. You’re ready to just say _‘screw it’_ and step back into the rain before she speaks again, having sensed your misgivings.

“Alright, you wanna be a weenie about it? Four dollars, starting off, and I’m not going any higher until you prove that you’re more than just a piece of walking talking hamburger meat with glasses.” The analogy, no matter how nonsensical, brings a wide grin to her face. You wonder how she knew about your glasses too, but chalk it up to her dastardly detective expertise. “Let me show you to your office, Egbert.”

Reaching out, she takes you by the coat again and pulls you from her office. Before you’re whisked out the door again, you take one last look around the room, and spot for the first time a small diploma, framed and hung on the wall amidst a bunch of other crap behind the desk. Compared to the rest of the stuff in four-thirteen, it shines behind well-polished glass and you bet if you were to run your finger atop the wooden frame, it would come back completely dust-free.

It reads:

_“University of Alternia_

_The Alternia Board of Regents,_

_by virtue of the authority vested in it by law and_

_on recommendation of the University Faculty does hereby confer on_

_Terezi Pyrope_

_who has satisfactorily completed the Studies prescribed therefor the degree of_

_Juris Doctor_

_with all Rights, Privileges, and Honors thereunto appertaining_

_Given at Lotaf, this thirteenth of April 1885”_

So she is a lawyer too, or at least she _was_ at some point in the past. Terezi Pyrope, you think, an interesting name for an interesting woman. You wonder what happened in the ten years between graduating and now that got her to where she is: a private detective instead of a lawyer in the small town of Silverchurch. Regardless, you feel more comfortable working for a private detective with a degree like that. It means that she knows what she’s doing.

And as she leads you up the stairs with all the gumption and confidence of a lion tamer, you pray that you’re right in that assumption.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So basically this is just an excuse for me to continue shipping precious child John Egbert with everyone and jump onto the JohnRezi train while it still has steam. Regardless, there are more chapters to come.
> 
> Thanks for reading.  
> \- Mike


	2. The Bread, the Book, and the Box

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Reveille and milkandhoney for commenting.

=> Be John Egbert

You are still John Egbert. Which means that you were at one point having an incredibly bizarre dream. It was so vivid, almost like it was actually happening. You disembarked from a train into a really shit town, trudged through the rain to this wacky house full of weird gubbins, and met this weirdly attractive blind woman with a voice like cutlery scrapping across porcelain-

“Hello, my baby! Hello, my honey! Hello, my ragtime gaaaal!” Your eyes snap open. “Send me a kiss by wire. Baby, my hearts on fiiiirre…”

The rest of the song trails off somewhere downstairs, accompanied by a loud series of _bangs_ and _cracks_. You’re lying on your back on the hard wood floor, staring up at the slanted roof, with nothing but your suitcase under your head and your coat over your shoulders for comfort. The cobwebs above drift lazily on an invisible draft and specks of dust dance through the beam of sunlight filtering in through a crack in the curtains.

So as it turns out, your experience last evening wasn’t a stress-induced fever dream, but an actual thing that you did. It’s funny. You honestly don’t know how you feel about that. A part of you wishes that you were back in your old house in Maple Valley, surrounded by the familiar walls and the comforting warmth of your childhood bed sheets. Then there’s the other part, the little twist in your chest that tightens as you sweep your eyes around you current surroundings and as you listen to the ruckus downstairs. It makes you dizzy, like you’ve been spinning in circles for too long and decided to try and sit down.

You realize that you’re excited to be here, in this town, in this house, with your new boss, and it’s that realization more than anything else that urges you up from the floor and into a sitting position. Good thing too, as you barely register rapid footsteps in the hallway outside before the door to your office is shoved open furiously.

“I’m making breakfast.” Declares Miss Pyrope from the threshold. “Eggs are hard to come by around here, but I thought to myself _‘why not?’_ Today’s a special occasion, after all, and I do like to flex my domestic fingers every whence and…” She trails off and twists her neck, as if glancing about the room. “You’re still here, right?”

“Yeah, I’m still here.” You answer quickly, fighting a chuckle.

As soon as you speak, her head snaps in your direction. Her brow furrows.

“Are you naked?”

“W-what? No!” You really aren’t, but that doesn’t stop you from pulling your coat up over your chest, or the burst of heat that flashes across your cheeks.

“Hahahaahaha!” She laughs shrilly and retreats from the doorway, walking backwards down the hall. “Put some pants on and meet me downstairs, Egbert!” She calls, still cackling.

Grumbling a few muted obscenities (you’ve heard stories of blind people having enhanced hearing abilities and you don’t want to test that as of yet) you do as your told and rummage through your suitcase for appropriate attire. You only packed one pair of pants, which in hindsight was probably a lapse in judgment, as the pair from last night has mud splattered up to the knee and horrible wrinkles everywhere else. You’ll have to find the local tailor pretty soon, after your first paycheck of course.

You debate whether or not to forgo the knee brace for now, as it’s rather a hassle to put on and pretty damn uncomfortable to wear once you do, but decide to spend the extra minutes strapping it on anyways. You don’t know what your new employer has planned for you today, but you doubt it entails sitting around and playing board games or something equally mundane. Maybe you’ll help her investigate a crime scene? Or trail a slippery jewel thief? Or maybe engage in a wild carriage chase through the city streets?! Geez, you’re getting pumped just thinking about it!

Resisting the urge to race down the stairs, you track Miss Pyrope to the kitchen, and find it to be a small room near the front of the house. You are immediately greeted by the smell of burnt eggs.

“I hope you like cold cereal.” Miss Pyrope says without turning as you appear in the doorway. The floor in this room is made of grey stone bricks instead of wooden planks and is largely occupied by a massive wood stove against the far wall. A small, two-seater table sits in the middle of the room and Miss Pyrope herself is bent, digging through an ice chest tucked into the corner.

“Sounds good to me!” You chirp happily and head for the table. You’re distracted though, by a rectangle of light set into the wall, a window. As it turns out, your assumption from last night has proven to be utterly wrong. The town of Silverchurch does _not_ look better under the light of day, if anything, it looks even more depressing, as the feeble rays of light that penetrate the overcast struggle to illuminate the gloomy streets below.

 A well-dressed fellow, sporting a fancy-looking cloak and swinging a bejeweled cane waltzes by across the street and you watch him as he disappears around the corner. Odd. You didn’t think you’d see anyone as swanky as that hanging around in a town like this.

A loud _clatter_ draws your attention from the window and you turn to see that Miss Pyrope has deposited a milk jug on the small table, along with several cups and jars full of miscellaneous foods.

“Pull up a chair over here, Egbert. I won’t bite. Hehe.” She sits and you quickly join her. “Help yourself. I struck a deal with the grocery a few streets over. I get everything half-off!”

“Wow! How’d you manage that?” You perch in the chair opposite her and wince as it creaks dangerously.

“Easy, he offered me half-off as long as I promised to stop coating his front porch with oil slick. Ha!”

You pause, halfway through pouring yourself a bowl of milk.

“Why on earth were you putting oil slick on his porch?” You ask.

“Because he had a pixie stealing all his produce! Duuh. He wouldn’t believe me though, said that it was one of the Makara kids, the little dimwit. He’s in denial. He’ll come around when over half of his stock goes missing, then he’ll be _begging_ me to douse his entire shop with slick.” She gnaws on something small and brown as she speaks, probably some kind of nut. “Pixies hate oil, just so you know, their wings drag on the ground when they walk and oil will get all in there and muck them all up so that they can’t fly.  You should be writing this down, by the way. Watch the milk.”

“Wha-?” You look down at your bowl and realize you’ve been pouring since she started talking. Milk escapes the brim of the bowl and flows onto the table. “Aw shit. Sorry.” You cast about for a towel and Miss Pyrope points lazily towards the wood stove, where a bundle of dirty-looking cloth sits discarded. You quickly mop up the mess. “Uh- excuse me if I’m not hearing you correctly, but what the hell are you talking about?”

“Pixies, you little milk-waster, they’re nicking fruit from the grocery. You know, you sure did pick an odd job if you’re going to be zoning out on me all the time.”

“You’re joshin me, right? You do know that pixies aren’t real things, don’t you?”

With her eyes hidden behind her sunglass, it’s hard to know for sure if she’s rolling her eyes or not, but you feel you can safely guess by the accompanied head shake and exasperated sigh. She spits the nut she was chewing out of her mouth and it lands a little too close for comfort next to your bowl. She leans forward over the table.

“Eyes here, Egbert.” You pull your gaze away from the nut to meet hers. Sort of. She’s entirely focused on the top right-most edge of your chair back. “From now on, and for the foreseeable future, let’s operate under the assumption that I am _not_ a complete lunatic and that there actually are some things in this world that your feeble little thinkpan couldn’t possibly begin to comprehend. I think it would be beneficial for us both, is that understood?”

“Yeess?” You answer, slightly confused.

“Good.” She sits back. “I’m good at reading people, Egbert, better than most would assume. I took you on as my assistant for a good reason.”

“What’s that?”

“Because you seem like the type who can follow directions, even if they don’t make any sense to you. Because you’re a gullible little boy, with no worldly experience besides what he saw during the train ride between here and whatever smelly-ass city you came from.”

For the umpteenth time, you feel warmth blossom in your face, although this time it might just be from pure frustration rather than anything else.

“I’m not gullible.” You argue. “I’m not believing half the stuff you say about pixies and magic and other supernatural shenanigans.”

“Disagreeing with me only proves how much more of a gullible sap you are.” She retorts. “You’ve bought into all of… _this_.” She gestures about the room, although you feel as if her waving hand encompasses much more. “You’ve been blinded by the minutiae of everyday life, social standards, taxes, relationships, clothes and high falutin horse carriages with golden trim. When’s the last time you really looked at the world around you and _understood_ what was going on?”

You feel the urge to bite back with a quick response like _‘all the damn time’_ or _‘I can see just fine, thank you very much’_ , but instead you bite your tongue. A part of you, the small philosophical portion, comprehends that she’s trying to reach out to you on a deeper level, one that, like she says, you fail completely to understand. You default to honesty mode:

“I don’t know.”

“Of course not.” She grins, flashing too many teeth. “I see more than you could ever hope to imagine, John Egbert. You’ve vaguely been paying attention to what I’ve said to you about this job so far, but pay attention to this, you are _not_ going to understand much of anything that happens, all I ask, is that you trust me to do the understanding for you. Follow my instructions and we’ll all be happy. Last night you told me that you could do that. Is that still true?”

You think about it for a moment, ponder how hard it would be to find another job in Silverchurch, or to pack up your suitcase and head to the next town over. Both of those seem like quite a bit of work and, if you’re being honest with yourself, Miss Pyrope lives all too intriguing of a life for you not to see her in action at least once. You answer honestly again:

“I think it’s true, yeah.” You smile at her and she smiles back.

“Then let’s seal the deal! Put her there, Egbert.” She reaches across the table and holds her hand for you to shake. You take it.

“Partners?” You question.

“Oh hell no. You’re my assistant now and forever, Egbert. This wheel rolls alone.”

“Ah, well. Okay then.”

Her grip is firm, much more so than yours, and she releases you after two quick pumps. You make a mental note to practice your handshake in the future. Nothing leaves a worse impression than limp-handed greeting.

“Pass me back that walnut, would you?” She asks, and you spend a few seconds maneuvering the nut onto the tip of your spoon so that you can pass it back to her without touching it. She goes back to chewing as you prepare your muesli.

“So, er- what’s on the agenda for the day?” You ask, careful to keep from sounding too eager for action. You remember reading somewhere that appearing cool, calm, and collected makes you seem more mature. As an assistant to a private detective, you feel it’s important to act the role.

Whatever that means.

“What’s today? Sunday?” She muses. “I usually tend to my garden on Sundays and prep myself for the week, but since you’re here now, I suppose I’ll leave you to do most the grunt work.”

“You have a garden?”

“Top floor, yes. I’ll show you it later if you’re a good boy. If you’re looking for something to do, I suggest you finish moving in upstairs and then report back to me. I should have a list of supplies made up by then that you can run to the store for. It’ll be good for you to get out for a bit and familiarize yourself with the town’s layout. Make sure you’re back by dark though, because I lock the door by then.”

“Couldn’t you just let me in?”

“No one comes in after the door is locked.”

“You let me in last night.”

“Last night was an exception.” Her walnut _cracks_ loudly and shatters to pieces in her mouth. As she spits the shell into a cup, you silently mourn the fact that you’ll be running errands today instead of doing some sweet detective shit. Ah well. Everyone starts out somewhere, you suppose. “Are you going to finish that?”

Miss Pyrope is pointing to your half-eaten cereal.

“No.” You push the bowl into her waiting hands. You’ve lost your appetite.

You watch as she pours the broken walnut shell into your breakfast and mixes it with a spoon. She gets up then and exits the room without a word, taking the bowl with her and leaving you to clean up the table and wash the dishes. The milk goes back in the icebox, the burnt eggs go in the trash, and you step out into the hallway to make for the stairs. You suppose you actually will finish settling in upstairs. Your new room could use a dusting. Hell, the whole house could.

As you pass by Miss Pyrope’s office, you see her replacing the moldy cereal in the glass case by her desk with your fresh one, and just shake your head.

* * *

The dust bunnies hiding under the desk in your new office are only rivaled in size by the spiders nesting in your small closet. You’re fortunate enough to have a window that opens up onto the street and you make use of it now by shepherding all of the dirt, grim, and pests that you can out into the breezy, mid-morning air with a dustpan. Brushing dirt from your hands on your trousers, you turn to examine your office space. You had been so tired last night; you’d barely even registered four walls and a roof before you’d crashed on the floor.

Now you can see that you have a five by nine foot space all to yourself, with a slanted roof, crisscrossed with wooden support beams, and a small closet that fits your suitcase and coat perfectly, with little room for anything else. There’s a desk and chair set too, much smaller than Miss Pyrope’s and altogether much less impressive-looking when you remove the tattered sheet that had been covering it.

Miss Pyrope had neglected to inform you as to whether or not there was another bedroom in the house, or if there was even _one_ bedroom in the place. You had yet to find out where your employer slept, although if you had to guess there’s probably another room above yours, on the third floor; which apparently also houses a garden of some sorts??? You decide to go snoop around later, probably when you’ve got some free time on your hands.  Regardless if there isn’t another bedroom in the house, you’re happy to sleep in your new office, as that means you’re be up and ready for some detective-ing in a moment’s notice should the need arise.

Right now though, you’ve got some assisting to do.

The shopping list that Miss Pyrope gives you when you come back downstairs is surprisingly short, consisting of only three items: A loaf of bread from the grocery, a book currently being held on reserve for her at the library, and a special package from the post office.

“I’m expecting urgent mail from overseas.” Miss Pyrope explains, in regards to the last item. “It’s fragile and expensive so try to not break it, alright? And don’t get it stolen either! The last thing we need is some hoodlum running around with one of these.”

“One of what?” You ask. “What is it?”

 “None of your business, that’s what. Now hop to it, and remember what I said about coming home before dark! I’m serious about locking that door.”

With a quick nod and a promise to “ _be back before you can say ‘where the hell is John with all of my weird shit?’”_ you step out of four-thirteen and into the murky streets, pulling your coat tighter about yourself as you go.

 You figure out quickly that the town of Silverchurch is essentially laid out like a giant wheel. As in, it has the central hub (where the supposedly famous Silverchurch resides) and a collection of spokes (or streets lined with buildings) pointing out in all directions. The grocery is the closest to your new home, only a few blocks towards the center of town, and is owned by a kindly man with watery eyes and two busted legs.

“Tavros Nitram.” He’s mopping the front porch when you meet him, awkwardly, due to his seat in a wheelchair. “Th-That’s my name. Don’t wear it out. Haha.”

It’s supposed to be a joke, but his delivery is a little off. You fight the urge to take the mop from his hands and finish cleaning the porch yourself, partially because you feel pity for this small business owner and partially because you can clearly see pools of oil slick stuck in the cracks of the floorboards. You shake his hand instead.

“John Egbert.” You introduce yourself with a smile. “I just got in town last night and landed a job as Miss Pyrope’s new assistant!” You point back towards four-thirteen for emphasis. It’s unnecessary though; Tavros clearly knows your boss, where she lives, and what she sent you for.

“Bread is up front by the counter.” He responds dully, all of his original hospitality falling along with his smile. “I’ll be with you in a second.”

“Uh- thank you, sir.”

Tavros collects the money Miss Pyrope loaned you quickly and ushers you from the premises as soon as you have the first item from your list tucked under your arm. You leave willingly, if a little confusedly, and pretty disappointedly. You were looking forward to making some new friends when you set out this morning, and with stop one up and done, you’ve so far managed to do the complete opposite of that.

You look back at the store over your shoulder as you walk away and see Tavros mopping the floor once again, looking more down-trodden than when you’d first seen him. What did you do? What did you say? You didn’t get a bath last night, but you’re reasonably comfortable with your current level of hygiene to rule that out as a possible deterrent. You hope that you’ll get another pass at Tavros, where you can rectify whatever mistake you unwittingly made and make a better impression.

Frowning slightly, you examine the passing buildings, looking for the next stop on your list. As luck would have it, you find the post office two streets over and bound inside, determined to leave with Miss Pyrope’s mysterious package and a new friend to add to your short list of pals.

“Hey there!” The inside of the post office is warm and dry and, to your frustration, completely empty. Your greeting bounces off of the far wall, back to you, and out the open door to be swept away in the breeze. Frowning still, you approach the long desk in the corner and read a folded note propped up against a jar of pencils.

_“Out on deliveries, be back later, leave a message if you’re so inclined.  
\- Parcel Mistress”_

You peek over the counter and find a stack of packages tucked between the wall and the counter, all of which are labeled with the names of their various recipients. Glancing around the store one last time, you sigh to yourself and hop the counter to search the stack for Miss Pyrope’s mail. You find your boss’s name scrawled neatly across a package at the very bottom of the pile and immediately let out a long groan.

It’s massive, the approximate size and shape of a stand-alone wardrobe, and covered with a tightly-bound canvas sheet. You cast about for a trolley to help you move the thing, but find none.

“Of course.” You grumble to yourself. “The Parcel Mistress probably took it out with her to make deliveries.”

You debate whether or not to wait for her to come back, but eventually decide against it. You’ve wasted quite a bit of time wandering the streets already and the sun has since passed the highest point the sky and began it’s decent. Or at least you think so, it’s hard to tell with the sheet of grey clouds covering everything. No, you’ll have to carry the damn thing yourself.

You leave a quick note:

_“Came to collect Miss Pyrope’s package while you were out. Thanks for your service!  
\- John Egbert”_

With your mood quickly descending towards downright grumpy, you restack the other deliveries behind the counter, tuck your groceries inside your coat, and begin to drag the second item from your list out into the street. It’s lighter than you would have expected, which is nice, but that doesn’t stop it from being any less unwieldy. It _thumps_ loudly as you pull it down the front steps and Miss Pyrope’s words about treating the package tenderly come to mind.

“Shit.” You moan. “This is going to be impossible!”

“Especially with _that_ attitude.” You whip around to find a familiar face leaning against the porch railing. The first thing that comes to mind is that this guy looks like a fucking badass. Black suit, white tie, dark sunglasses, and hair the color of corn, so perfectly mussed that he either just finished having amazing sex or just walked out of a studio where he spent time posing as a model for an art class. “Why don’t you draw a sketch?” He says as he rolls a cigarette, like he was reading your mind. “It might just last longer.”

You realize that you were staring then and your teeth come together with a sharp _snap_. He smirks, and yeah, you definitely know him from somewhere. Except you can’t seem to remember where for the life of you.

“Er- Sorry.” You respond, giving him a quick nod before turning back to your package.

“What you got there?” He asks.

“Just some mail. It’s for my boss.”

“Who’s yer boss?” He strikes a match and lights his cigarette, taking a long drag.

“Miss Pyrope, the private detective who lives on Windyshade Lane.” You respond proudly. The large package catches in the dip between the road and the sidewalk and you struggle to shift it for a second. When you get it free, you look up and see that the man is still standing there, his sunglasses dipping down so that he can look at you over their rims.

“What did you just say?” He asks.

“Um.” You find the shift in his attitude uncomfortable. “I work for Miss Pyrope, the private detective-“

“Who lives on Windyshade lane, yeah.” He finishes your sentence. “That’s what I thought you said.” He steps away from the porch and flicks his cigarette away to land in the dirt. He steps around your burden, out of sight, and you wonder what he’s doing until your load becomes significantly lighter. “Where are you headin’?”

“The library now.” You answer, then add: “Er- I appreciate it, but you don’t really have to help me. I can do this by myself.

“It’s no trouble. I was just headin’ that way myself.” With his help, you begin to carry the unwieldy down the street. “Name’s Dave Strider, by the way.”

“Oh man!” You’re suddenly so excited you nearly drop your end of the cumbersome box. “You’re that guy who owns that party store or something. I saw your poster on the message board.”

“Hell yeah, that’s me.” He answers smugly. You can practically hear his smirk. “I’m the rhyme master extraordinaire, laying down beats so ill, you and your friends will be throwing up your own skeletons by the time I’m through.”

“Awesome!”

“Tell me about it. You should come by the shop sometime. I make a habit of giving free demos from time to time, helps spread the business through word of mouth.”

“Do you get a lot of business around here?”

“Not as much as I would like, but I think I do alright. The competition is too fierce everywhere else, it’s hard to get your voice heard, but here in Silverchurch, I got the market basically on lockdown.”

“Nice!” You’ve never heard of anything like a _‘beat dropping service’_ back in the big city, but you decide to keep that to yourself. “It’s nice to meet you, Dave Strider. I’m John Egbert, I just got into town last night.”

“Where from?”

“Maple Valley. It’s to the west of here, near the mountains.”

“Never heard of it, although it sounds like one of those big ol’ towns with a museum and one of those grassy places where you take kids to run around.”

“A park?”

“Yeah, one of those. Why’d you leave a place like that for a…” He pauses while he thinks. “A shithole like this?”

“Aw, from what I’ve seen Silverchurch isn’t so bad!”

“I appreciate the optimism, but really don’t flatter the place.” He tugs gently on his end of the load and you realize that the library is approaching on your left. You come to a stop and set the large package down together just outside the front door. “So come on.” He presses. “Why’d you come out here?”

Dave steps around the parcel to face you, his arms crossed, and lips pursed. You think about your response, whether or not to broach the subject or to just brush him off. In the end, honesty wins out.

“After my dad died I just didn’t want to hang around anymore.” You speak quickly, all in one breath. “I didn’t have many friends, no family, a boring job and I guess…” You look away for a second, over the dusty street and rundown buildings, to the crooked steeple of the silver church, barely visible over the rooftops. “I just wanted a change of scenery, you know?”

“I know exactly what you mean.” Dave’s hand comes down on your shoulder with a solid _clap_. “Welcome to town, Egbert.”

You smile and before you can say anything else, Dave turns away and leads you into the library.

A wall of heat and powerful perfumes hit you as soon as you cross the threshold. It’s incredibly dark inside, with windows clothed in heavy black curtains and small candles, little more than incents, dotting the many shelves lined-up between the walls.

“Yo, Lalonde!” Dave calls into the blackness. “You’ve got yourself a customer!”

There’s some rustling beyond your field of view, accompanied by a soft, exasperated sigh. From the shadows, drifts a specter of silver and black and you’re momentarily frightened by the sight until you realize that it is, in all actuality, a woman.

She’s small and petite, with large, wide-set eyes and short platinum blonde hair. Her lips are stained as black as her dress and her gaze seems to cut right through you like you’re as insubstantial as the wind.

Fuck. Why is everyone in this town so hot?

“David.” She greets, her words measured carefully. “And a visitor. How do you do?”

“Well, ma’am.” You subtly try to smooth your hair. “My name is John Egbert. I’m new. And you are?”

“Rose Lalonde.” She offers her hand and you take it quickly. Like Miss Pyrope’s, her hand is firm in yours and you really wish you’d taken some time to practice your grip before now. “Welcome to Silverchurch. I can see that you’ve already met my brother.”

“Who? Dave?” You look between the two. Each of them raise an eyebrow slightly, and yeah, you can totally see the resemblance now. “Oh yeah! He helped me with an errand. He’s super nice and cool.”

“Egbert, you charmer you!” Dave pretends to swoon and Rose rolls her eyes with practiced ease. She’s pretty good at that. Like, if eye-rolling was an Olympic sport, she’d definitely be a gold medalist.

Miss Pyrope would probably be her coach.

“Anyways, he’s here for a book.” Dave continues, shoving his hands into his pockets and addressing his sister. “You’ll find it under his boss’s name probably.”

“Oh yes?” Rose drifts dreamily towards a shelf labeled _‘reserves’_ and begins picking at the spines. “And who might that be?”

“Terezi Pyrope, our resident private detective.” Dave answers before you can.

Rose falters, but only slightly. If you hadn’t been watching her, you probably would have missed it. She continues searching the shelf and eventually selects one tome in particular before turning back to you and Dave. Her smile, structured from years of dealing with the public through her occupation, has weakened slightly, and you’re beginning to realize _why_ Tavros might have reacted the way he did and why you should probably refrain from mentioning your new job to everyone you meet.

“Here we go.” She sets the book on a nearby counter and reads the title aloud. “Tales of Suspense: Unsolved Mysteries and Paranormal Happenings from the mid 1700’s to 1865. Quite an interesting read, don’t you think, brother dearest?”

“I’d have to agree, oh sister of mine.” Dave leans against the counter and both of the Strider-Lalonde siblings look at you pointedly.

“What?” You ask. “So she likes mystery novels. She’s a private detective, it makes sense to me.”

“Has Miss Pyrope told you the nature of the cases she deems… _rational_?” Rose asks carefully.

“Yeah.” You answer. “And okay, I _suppose_ it’s a little far-fetched, the magic and pixies and whatever, but she does make a lot of sense when she gets talking about it.”

“We’ve all heard her speech at one point or another.” Dave says. He covers his eyes with one hand and mimes sweeping a cane cross the floor with the other as he does a terrible impression of your boss: “ _I see more than you could ever hope to imagine!! Hehehe!_ ”

Dave’s rude, fake laughter turns to genuine chuckles and even Rose hides a few giggles behind her hand. You feel heat beginning to creep up your neck again.

“You all think she’s some kind of lunatic, don’t you?” You ask stiffly.

“Of course not, that would imply that there’s some sort of medical reasoning behind her behavior. We know better.” Rose jots a quick note down in a journal as she speaks, marking down that your book has been checked out. “She knows exactly what she’s doing, running around this town, screaming about goblins and ghouls, leaving vandalism in her wake. It’s all fun to her, John. You’ll learn that soon enough.” She picks the book up off the counter and passes it to you. You take it and meet her eyes over your outstretched hands. “Although, if you’re smart, and I can tell that you are, you’ll reconsider your employment and perhaps find someplace else to lend your services.”

“I like where I am now, actually.” You reply, stubborn and surprisingly defensive considering your own skepticism this morning. You suppose Miss Pyrope has won you over with her _compelling charisma_. “I mean, thanks for the advice, Miss Lalonde. I’ll keep it in mind.”

“See that you do.” The pretty librarian smiles. “And please, call me Rose.”

With the last of your list collected, you exit the library with Dave, and together you carry the mysteriously large package all the way back to four-thirteen on Windyshade lane. Dave brings you to a stop outside the obnoxiously red front door and you wipe the sweat from your brow.

“You’re on your own from here, man.” He says, retreating down the street. “Take care of yourself, alright? And come by the shop when _the boss_ lets you off the leash.”

“You got it!” You give him a thumbs-up and watch him swagger his way down the sidewalk out of sight. Dave Strider, the beat master, and Rose Lalonde, the gothic librarian, two new friends on your first real day in Silverchurch.

You suppose things could have gone a lot worse.

You try to doorknob to four-thirteen and find it to be thoroughly locked.

“Fuck.” You curse and look towards the sky. The sun is just barely peeking through the clouds still, casting pink rays over the horizon. It’s not dark yet, you’ve made it back in time, so why the hell is the door locked. You knock again. “Miss Pyrope!” You call. “It’s John. I got all the stuff you wanted.”

The door opens immediately.

“You’re late.” Miss Pyrope says, poking her mess of dark hair out into the street. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

“I’m not late!” You retort. “It’s still light out!”

“Maybe for you. Hehe.” Her laughter starts out slow, but surely builds. “Yet for me it’s _always_ dark. HAHAHA!”

You groan.

“Yes. I get it. You’re blind. Whoopty-doo. Now can I come inside or not?”

“Did you get all the stuff on the list?”

“Yes, ma’am. Here’s your bread and your book.” You pass her the two items. “And I’ve got your… whatever this big thing is- right here.”

“Great! Pull it into the living room and keep it covered. It’s imperative that absolutely no light whatsoever reaches the delicate equipment within.”

“Really? What is it? And why didn’t you tell me that sooner? I could have pulled the sheet off as soon as I saw it.”

“It’s not any of your business what it is!” Miss Pyrope is already retreating further into the house, calling back towards you. “And I didn’t tell you that particular piece of info because I trusted you to keep your nosy-little-self in check! Turns out I was right!” She disappears into her office, only to poke her head out again to look in your general direction. “Congratulations, Egbert. You’ve passed my final test. Welcome to the team.”

She disappears then, leaving you in the doorway to stare after her blankly. You could have sworn that you were done with tests this morning, when you’d shaken hands and shared breakfast.

Rose’s advice from earlier comes back to mind, but you shake your head. You’ve already invested time and labor into this, you aren’t going to back out now. Besides, like Miss Pyrope just said, you’ve proven yourself.

And that’s a good feeling.

Gripping the sides of Miss Pyrope’s mysterious mail, you begin to walk it into the house, a small smile playing on your lips all the while.

* * *

=> Be Jane Crocker

You are now Jane Crocker.

Closing time! Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end.

“I’m heading home for the night, Mr. Rosewater!” You call, as you finish cleaning the last of the pub’s tables.

Your boss, Mr. Rosewater, straightens up from behind the bar and waves.

“Have a good night, Jane.” He says warmly. “And be safe walking home! It’s a full moon out tonight. Hehe.”

“Oh, _har har_.” You throw your rag at him as you pass and grab your coat from the peg by the door. “I’ll be over here tomorrow as soon as I finish my shift at the bakery, alright?”

“Don’t worry about it, dear. I can handle the Monday night crew by myself.” He shoots you a wink. “Besides, you work yourself too hard. A young lass like you should be having fun, not helping out old codgers like me.”

“Idle hands are the devil’s playthings!” You remind him in a sing-song voice as you slide out the door. He gives you a final wave as you step out into the street and you smile to yourself as you button your coat up to your throat. It’s cold out tonight and the clouds have actually parted for once, giving an un-obscured view to the brilliant, starry sky.

Perhaps you’ll bring an extra cupcake over from the bakery tomorrow. Mr. Rosewater would definitely get a kick out of that.

But then again, you think to yourself as you start off down the street, it has been a while since you hung out with your friends. Maybe you could swing by Roxy’s place tomorrow and have some dinner, or actually sit down and finish writing that letter to Jake, or maybe play a rousing game of table tennis. Hell, there’s an endless number of things you can do with your free time!

So engrossed are you in your thoughts, that you barely even notice where your feet are taking you. Instead of heading to the end of the street and turning on the sidewalk, you cut down a side alley between the pub and a set of apartments. It’s a shortcut you’ve taken home before, but never at night.

You’ve just passed a set of garage bins when you hear it: an odd _scratching_ sound. You freeze in your tracks. A few seconds later, it comes again, a harsh _scratching_ on the stone bricks. It’s too loud to be a rat, or even one of the many wild house cats that roam the streets.

“Hello?” You ask the shadows of the alley. “Someone there?” The scratching, which had started up again, suddenly stops. You grip your coat a little tighter. “Come on. You better not be waiting to jump out at-“

A pair of blood-red dots appear in front of you, floating like a set of moths, albeit perfectly still in the air. You stare at them in confusion, wondering if there’s a smudge on your glasses, or if someone’s lighting some candles beyond where you can see.

The dots flash once and you realize that they’re actually _eyes_. Then you scream.

The eyes flash and something barrels out of the darkness towards you, something massive and fast, snarling like a rabid dog. A million thoughts flash through your head as you turn to run: Mr. Rosewater screwed you over with that full moon joke. Why weren’t you paying attention where you were walking? And oh please god I hope it just wants one of my arms, I can afford to let it eat one, I’ve got two of those suckers!

Two blows strike you in the back, like a pair of punches from a heavyweight boxer. You cry out and pitch forward, the ground rushes up to meet you, and the world goes black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looks this is going to be a thing from now on. Thanks to everyone who is reading and giving support. It means a lot :) I have lots of plans for this story.
> 
> Thanks again, guys.  
> \- Mike


	3. Murder in Silverchurch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Reveille for commenting.

=> Be John Egbert

You are now John Egbert. Which means that you’re one sexy outfit and a feather duster away from being a legitimate housemaid. Just like your room upstairs, the rest of Miss Pyrope’s house on Windyshade Lane is absolutely filthy and completely overrun with all types of creepy crawlies. You take a broom to all the floors and use a rag everywhere else, shepherding great piles of dust and grime out the front door or into trash bins to be dumped later.

“I think this rat’s been decomposing under your desk for about six months.” You inform your boss, holding the late rodent gingerly with a bit of newspaper.

“I knew something smelt bad.” She says.

The house comes equipped with an attic instead of a cellar, which is nice since cellars always creeped you the hell out. Something about the idea of having a dark, dank cave under your house where anything could live, like a ten foot python or something, just doesn’t sit right with you and you’re lucky to have found an employer who shares that superstition, albeit with a twist:

“Basements are frequently home to an assortment of magical creatures.” She states evenly when your broach the topic with her. “Just last week, Mrs. Brooks a few streets over thought she had a ground nymph running around in her wine cellar! Well, _she_ didn’t think it was a ground nymph, but _I_ thought it was.”

“And was it?”

“No.” Miss Pyrope frowns. “It was just a funny-looking rocking chair with a sheet over it. Still,” She points towards the corner. “I did get that sweet chair out of it.”

Your gaze follows her finger, and yeah, now that you look at it that rocking chair _does_ look pretty damn funny.

You’re rather keen to question Miss Pyrope about her past cases. It would be interesting to hear her version of events, how she might have saved the town from one mystical threat or another, before you talk to anymore Silverchurch inhabitants. From what you’ve witnessed so far, most of them think your boss has ridden too far downstream and tumbled off the deep end. However, before you get the chance to badger her with your numerous questions, she’s excused herself and made for the garden supposedly on the third floor, leaving you to your cleaning.

If you were a little younger, you’d probably be a little annoyed at having to manage all the chores by yourself, but in the recent years, you’ve grown to appreciate the art of cleanliness as paramount to living a comfortable life. Something about wiping away an inch-thick layer of dust to expose the rich chestnut beneath just gets your jimmies all rustled up with excitement. You lose track of time between the dusting and the sweeping, so much so that it takes several thunderous knocks on the front door for you to realize that you have a visitor.

You’re caught mid-way through the process of reorganizing some paper boxes the hallway and whip around as if shocked to look at the back of the blood-red door. You hesitate, wondering if this is actually happening or if it’s some sort of mistake, like maybe whoever knocked will leave once they realize what they’ve done. A second later, you nearly jump out of your skin when the door is knocked again, this time louder.

You should probably answer that.

“Murder!” A voice cries, after you undo the multitude of locks and open the door. You look down and see a small boy, no higher than your waist, shouting at the top of his lungs. “Murder in Silverchurch!”

“I’m sorry, but- what?” You do a double take.

“A body’s been found, sir!” The boy responds, already backpedaling off the front steps. “On the east side of town, near Rosewater’s Pub!”

“Who?” You question, not that it would matter since the number of people you know in Silverchurch can be counted on one hand, with fingers to spare.

Regardless, the boy is no longer listening and has already dashed to the next house over.

“Murder!” He bangs on the front door. “Murder in Silverchurch!”

You gently shut the front door and turn back to the house, musing to yourself deeply. Someone was killed, either last night or early this morning, not two hundred yards from where you were sleeping. Now, you’re no stranger to petty crimes in the city, but actual _murder_? Why would anyone want to kill _anyone_ in a town as small as this? Aren’t people in rural townships supposed to be all best pals or something?

Oh shit. What if it _was_ one of your new friends? The thought that the few minutes of interaction you had with Rose or Dave would be the last made your stomach churn.

A furious _patter_ of footsteps down the stairs pull you from your thoughts and you look up just in time to see Miss Pyrope come careening out of the living room and into the hallway. Her foot catches on a stray box and she goes tumbling forward, head over heels, to land in a heap amongst a pile of other crates. Loose papers go everywhere and a mighty _crash_ shakes the floor beneath your feet.

“Shit! Miss Pyrope!” You rush forward, horrified, and take her by the arm. “Are you alright?”

“Did you move something?” She questions rapidly, as you pull her to her feet.

“Yeah, a few boxes…”

“ _Don’t_ move anything!” She reprimands, smacking you about the head with the palm of her hand. “I told you that, dammit. Ugh!” She pushes away from you and dusts herself off, kicking boxes and papers out of her way as she strides powerfully towards the door. You rub your head and watch her sheepishly as she throws it open and has a peek outside. “I heard shouting, was that the town crier?”

“I suppose, a little guy who runs around and literally cries news in the face of everyone he can?”

“That’s him. So I suppose it’s true then.” She turns back to look at you, a wicked grin twisting her lips. Goosebumps race up and down your arms as she speaks. “There _has_ been a murder.”

She runs then, barreling past you and into her office. You hear drawers being opened and slammed shut, papers being crumpled, and even the sound of a pane of glass shattering, followed by a muffled curse. You step over the mess in the hall and follow her, pausing to watch from the doorway as she races to and fro.

“So I guess you and I are going to go check out this murder, huh?” You ask, watching her as she tries to simultaneously pack a messenger bag and lace up a pair of shoes.

“You bet your ass.”

“I always thought that people came and hired private detectives to investigate stuff.”

“No way! We’ve got to be proactive, seek our own cases out.”

“Well then who pays us if we solve the case?”

Miss Pyrope straightens up, having finished tying her shoelaces, and places her hands on her hips. Something about this posture almost causes a chuckle to bubble from your lips, but you suppress it quickly. She really is all wiry limbs and sharp angle, glaring up at you through those red-tinted shades.

“I think you’re jumping the gun a bit, Egbert.” She says firmly. “Do you remember what I told you about the minutia of everyday life?”

“That it’s the world’s greatest lie?”

“Exactly.” Miss Pyrope steps forward and reaches out, wrapping several thin fingers around one of the straps of your suspenders. “Money is a construct of society, a necessary pitfall that we must avoid on the quest for justice. Worry about it later, when the corpse has grown cold.”

“Um. Okay.” You’re pretty sure that the corpse, whoever it is, probably grew cold after a few hours, but you keep that to yourself. “Whatever you say, Miss Pyrope.”

“There’s a good Egbert.” She steps past you into the hall and heads for the door, keeping a firm grip on you all the while and causing you to stumble after her. “We’ll have to be quick.” She continues, as you both take your respective coats from the rack by the door. “Someone might have already sent a message to the next town over. They’ll undoubtedly send a team to investigate, a proper force with guns and badges and uniforms. Bleh! Who needs them?!” Reaching down into an umbrella stand, she angrily rips a cane from it’s depths.

You’ve only seen her wield a cane once, on your first day when she poked and prodded at you like a child who’d found a particularly interesting dead frog. This cane is different though, longer, with a silver shaft and a bright-red head, molded in the shape of a dragon’s snout.

“What is it with you and the color red?” You ask, veering completely off topic.

She turns and smiles at you again, speaking so matter-of-factly that you don’t know for sure if she’s fucking with you or not.

“I love the way it tastes. Hehe.” And with that, she prods the front door open with her foot and steps out onto the front steps. You follow quickly, remembering to close and lock the door behind you. “Hold onto this for me,” She says and you turn just in time to catch the messenger bag that is thrown unceremoniously into your chest. “It contains sensitive investiga-latory equipment and must be handled with extreme care.”

“Oh is that so?” You sling the bag over your shoulder as you set off down the street. As you pass, Miss Pyrope takes your arm and coils her fingers all the way around your bicep in a vice-like grip. “The last thing you told me to haul through the streets was some big dumb mystery. What’s in here? Some fairy dust? A hand grenade? An urn full of some grumpy old wizard’s ashes?”

“Nothing as interesting as the mail I received yesterday.” She responds, still grinning. “And no, there’s nothing in that bag that will hurt you. Lose it however, and you may not receive the same mercy from me. Ha!”

“Well if it’s so important, then why don’t you carry it?”

“Because it’s heavy, of course! Now,” She digs her nails into your arm sharply and you come to a stop. “Before we get heading in the wrong direction, where was the corpse found?”

“Umm.” You wrack your brains. “On the east side, near a pub.”

“Rosewater.” Mumbles Miss Pyrope and she tugs sharply on your arm, urging you to continue down the street. Her cane, instead of being used to guide her forward, rests tucked under her free arm and you suppose that she doesn’t need it really as long as she has you. This causes you to smile. It feels nice to be used.

At the end of the street, you take a left, recalling the mental map you made of Silverchurch upon your previous trip through the streets. Miss Pyrope gives you directions here or there when you ask, but mostly remains quiet, only mumbling to herself every whence and then. Apparently the simple location of the crime has given her quite a bit to ponder and you’re happy leave her to her thoughts. It’s a lovely day after all and who wouldn’t enjoy a nice, calming walk, before having to be confronted with grisly crime scene.

And damn, is it grisly.

A throng of people have congregated around Rosewater’s Pub, forming a clear radius of about twenty feet from the edge of their numbers to the front window of the establishment. You recognize the pub as the one you passed on your first night into town and bemoan the fact that you were unable to visit it under cheerier circumstances. Miss Pyrope directs you to cut through the crowd.

“Excuse us! Hey, outta the way!” She shouts as you gently try to clear a path, muttering apologizes to those you pass. “This is super important detective work. Make a hole, people. Make a hole!”

You manage to squeeze your way through and quickly hasten to cross the no-man’s land up to the entrance of the pub. Just outside the front doors, five people are huddled together and talking in hushed voices. Well, four actually, one woman is sitting on a stool by the door, white-faced and shaking slightly, while the others converse. You recognize none of them, but they most certainly recognize your boss, since they all stop talking abruptly and look to her as she approaches.

“Terezi.” Greets one of the group, a woman with long, flowing dark hair and deeply-tanned skin.

“Your highness.” Responds the detective, digging her nails into your arm once more to bring you to a stop. You’re starting to feel a bit like a show dog. Miss Pyrope bows deeply and the woman who’d spoken rolls her eyes, but you can definitely see a quirk in her lip as she beats a smile. “Rumor on the grapevine is that there was some sort of incident here.”

“Indeed there was.” The woman sets her gaze upon you and you fight the urge to avert your eyes. Fuck she’s hot. “Who’s your friend here?”

“My new assistant,” Miss Pyrope explains. She nudges you in the side. “Introduce yourself, Egbert.”

“Oh yeah. Right!” You step forward and offer your hand to the woman. “John Egbert, I’m new.”

“Feferi Peixes, I’m the mayor of Silverchurch.”  Feferi gives your hand two quick pumps up and down, her fingers like steel around yours. Besides being incredibly attractive, Mayor Peixes is impeccably dressed in a flowing gown of flamboyant colors, golden bangles clink loudly on her wrists, and large, yet tasteful, earrings hang near her round cheeks. No wonder Miss Pyrope called her _‘your highness’_ , she totally looks as if she just finished stepping down from the throne of some exotic palace. “Welcome to my town.”

“Happy to be here!” You chirp truthfully, then catch sight of the mayor’s company, all grim-faced and serious. “Well, I’m not happy to be _here_ , but- well, you know what I mean.”

“Where’s the dead guy?” Miss Pyrope demands from your side.

“Inside,” Mayor Peixes gestures over her shoulder. “I wouldn’t worry yourself with this one, Terezi. We’ve already got a police force on the way from Rainbowfalls. They’ll be here in the hour.”

“Then you won’t mind if we spend the hour until their arrival doing a little bit of poking around ourselves.”

“Actually, I would.”

“Oh come on, Feferi!” Miss Pyrope groans. “Why do we always have to go through this rigmarole? I’ve told you a billion times that there’s no need to outsource when you’ve got a perfectly fine investigation squad right under your nose!”

“One blind woman raving about centaurs does not an investigation squad make,” The mayor looks at you again. “And not to downplay your undoubtedly vast abilities, Mister Egbert, but I really can’t say with confidence that your presence will do much to change that either.”

“Yeah, I’m pretty much just here to hold the bag.” You admit, showing Mayor Peixes the messenger bag draped over your shoulder.

 “Listen, Feferi.” Miss Pyrope pleads, actually pleads, folding her hands as if in prayer. “Give us ten minutes alone with the body, no- five minutes- three? I promise not to disrupt the traditional, and incredibly boring, law process during the course of my undoubtedly awesome investigation. We’ll be quick, in and out, you won’t even know we were in there!”

“Terezi.” The mayor heaves a massive sigh and messages the bridge of her nose. “I’m sorry, but this is serious. A person is dead, people are scared. If it was a missing cat, strange symbols in the clouds, then sure I’ll humor you, but not this time.” She looks to you next and nods down the street. “Please, Mister Egbert, take her home.”

Miss Pyrope looks ready to argue, but she must think better of it.  She closes her mouth with a sharp _snap_ , turns her nose towards the sky, and says:

“Come, Egbert. I can tell when I’m not wanted.”

And with that, she begins marching off down the street, leading you by the arm this time, instead of vice versa. You expect her to rejoin the crowd across the street, but instead she takes you on a route parallel to the front of the pub, all the way to corner, where she suddenly digs her nails into your arm again, this time sharper than ever.

“Is she looking?” Miss Pyrope asks in a hushed voice.

“Who?”

“The mayor, you dingus.”

You glance over your shoulder and see that Mayor Peixes is conversing with someone new, a man wearing a fancy cloak and clutching a bejeweled cane.

“No. She’s not look-gah!” You’re cut off as Miss Pyrope suddenly veers to the right, dragging you bodily into an alley adjacent to the pub. Her cane is thrust forward now, tapping a beat against the ground like a drum as she jogs the length of the alley, turns right again, and stops at the rear of the pub, hauling you along all the while. “What the hell are you doing?!”

“My job, now keep your voice down.” Miss Pyrope feels along the wall. “There should be a door here, where is it?”

“Uh- a few feet to your left.”

She runs her fingers on the stones until she finds it. With a soft chuckle, she kneels and locates the doorknob, giving it a quick twist then frowning as the door refuses to budge. She reaches a hand out to you without looking.

“The bag.” She orders. You pass her the messenger bag and she begins rummaging through it loudly, eventually retrieving a pair of seemingly random items from its depths, a paperclip and a tiny screwdriver. You watch in confusion as she toys with the objects in her hands, you look towards the door, then you gaze up at the wall of the building. Soon enough, it clicks.

“You’re going to break in!” You exclaim, devastated.

“Yes, of course. Now shut up. This takes a lot of concentration.” Taking her tools, Miss Pyrope gets to work on the lock, pressing her ear flat against the wood of the door.

You begin to pace. You always pace when you’re nervous.

“You’re breaking the law, Miss Pyrope. Do you know how much trouble we could get into? You were a lawyer, right? You know how wrong this is. We’re not _just_ breaking into a private domicile; we’re breaking into an active crime scene! We could get tied up for a long time because of this!”

“I know, right?” The lock _clicks_ open and Miss Pyrope looks back to grin at you. “Doesn’t it feel _great_?”

No. It doesn’t. In fact, you think you might be ill.  You press your lips together tightly, as Miss Pyrope throws open the door and slips inside, leaving you with no choice but to follow.

Well, okay, you have other choices, but none of them are nearly as cool or impressive as breaking and entering. God, this is so fucked.

The back door leads into a storage room. Empty cups, large kegs, spare wood stools, and sacks of flour are piled and stacked all over the damn place. The smell of ancient wood and beer flood your nostrils and calm your beating heart, just by a little though. You can detect another smell buried beneath the others, something pungent and sour.

Miss Pyrope hisses like a cat and you look towards her to see that she’s already moved ahead to a second door and is motioning for you to join her. You do, and together the pair of you step out into the pub proper. The place is a mess, tables are overturned, bottles are smashed on the floor, and dark blood is splattered all over the floor and halfway up the wall.

Okay, scratch your previous statement. You are _definitely_ going to be ill.

In the middle of it all, lays a corpse. It’s a man, that much you can tell, his chest has been ripped open violently, as if someone grabbed him by the ribs and wrenched upwards, tearing through the skin in an explosion of gore and horrendous other stuff that bodies probably have inside of them that you can’t think of right now because holy shit that’s a lot of blood.

Miss Pyrope steps confidently, if gingerly, about the floor space. Her cane taps quietly against the floor, guiding her footsteps as she makes her way towards the center of the room, and the corpse.

“I must be getting close. The smell is pretty intense. Hehe. Check the cash drawer and the stock behind the bar, will you?” She chatters as she moves. A hop and a skip later and she’s knelt by the corpse, hovering her fingers over the body, but not touching. From her pocket, Miss Pyrope produces a handkerchief, which she drapes over her fingers before she begins poking at the cadaver.

Your vision is starting to swim. It’s insanely hot in this room, like there’s a fire burning under the floorboards. Any second now, Mayor Peixes and all of her important, good-looking friends are going to burst through the front door and find you snooping. And then you’ll be standing here with your boss and a corpse, dressed only in your underwear. Dave will be there too, shaking his head and smirking slightly, _“I warned you about this job, bro.”_ he’ll say _“I told you, dog.”_

“Egbert... Egbert... Hey, Egbert!” Someone is shouting. “John!”

You snap back from wherever you were to find that Miss Pyrope is suddenly very, very close to you, gripping you by the shoulders more gently than you’d come to expect. Her face is drawn up in a frown and her eyebrows are cinched together tightly.

“You still with me?” She asks.

“Bru- Huh?”

She shakes you.

“John, are you still in there?” Her mouth twists into an inhuman shape, almost like a question mark. “You better not be wigging out on me.”

“I- I’m not.” Your tongue feels heavy, but you force it to move.  “I’m here.”

“Good.” A hand slaps you sharply on the cheek, sharpening your senses. “Now go check the cash drawer and the stock behind the bar. We don’t have much time.”

“Right.”

Miss Pyrope darts away again, her cane swishing in front of her like some kind of backwards tail. Your head turns and keeps turning until you find what you’re looking for, a long bar against the wall opposite the door. You begin making your way towards it, tiptoeing over pools of blood and other gunk. You fight to stay focused on your goal and to keep your mind off of how fucking weird and sick this whole situation is. For each step you take, the bar seems to be getting progressively further and further away from you, until all of the sudden you’re right in front of it, then you wish you still had more ground to cover.

Taking a deep breath, you clamber over the counter, just like you did at the post office, and quickly locate the cash drawer tucked into a compartment behind the bar.

“It- It’s full of cash.” You call, voice still finding itself, as you examine the stacks upon stacks of dollars and other bills crammed into the drawer.

“And the alcohol?”

You check the stock of alcohol behind the bar next, but before you can answer, a voice speaks out from across the pub, sending cold chills running down your spine.

“None of the pub’s liquor was stolen either. No, whoever killed Mr. Rosewater wasn’t looking for any money _or_ drink.” With a heavy heart, you peek over the bar to see Mayor Peixes and her companions standing in the door leading to the street. Well, at least you aren’t in your underwear. “I knew I couldn’t trust you to keep out of trouble, Terezi.”

“Then why did you let me get this far?” Retorts your boss, not rising from her spot by the corpse.

“Because I’ve got fish for brains, I suppose.” Answers the mayor with a sigh. She rubs at her nose again and you wonder if she’s developing some sort of tick. “Alright, Terezi, I give up. What did you find?”

Miss Pyrope raises her hand towards the sky, holding something on the palm of her hand, wrapped in the bloody handkerchief. Mayor Peixes approaches her to see what she’s found and spends a long few seconds examining whatever it is. You can’t see from your spot behind the bar, so you climb back over it and make your way over to them as well.

“It’s a bone.” The mayor identifies correctly. “Yes, Terezi, bodies have bones in them. Is this supposed to mean something?”

“It’s a piece of rib.” Miss Pyrope explains. “Snapped like a trig and picked clean of all the meat.” Sure enough, the bone is white as snow and as clean as a whistle. “Mr. Rosewater here was _eaten_.”

You blanch and even Mayor Peixes looks away with disgust.

“Judging by the smell.” Your boss continues, taking a deep whiff. “We can’t have missed our culprit by more than six hours. What time did the pub close last night?”

“I don’t know. One or two in the morning.”

“Is there anyone alive that would know exactly?”

“Yeah, Jane, the Crocker girl who works at the bakery. She picks up extra shifts here on the weekends sometimes though.” The mayor folds her arms. “But I don’t know how up she’s going to be to talking about now.”

“Why’s that?”

“She claims to have been attacked by some kind of animal shortly after leaving. Poor girl’s all shaken up. She was real close to Mr. Rosewater apparently.”

Miss Pyrope rises to her feet and folds the bone plus handkerchief into a neat square, before inserting it into her bag.

“I wanna talk to her.”

* * *

Jane Crocker is sitting just outside the pub on a wooden stool, wearing a wool coat and heavy blanket, yet still shivering all the same. You feel bad for her, there’s a nasty scrape on her forehead and you can tell by the way she’s sitting that she’s got some nasty bruises on her somewhere. It also doesn’t help that she’s got fifty or so people standing twenty feet away, staring at her like she’s some kind of interesting zoo exhibit.

“Jane Crocker?” Miss Pyrope asks. You and your boss have been given five minutes alone to question the last person to see Mr. Rosewater alive, while Mayor Peixes and her posse wandered off for some quick breakfast. “My name is Terezi Pyrope. I live just a few streets over on Windyshade Lane. My friend and I are a couple of radical private detectives and-“

“Yeah, sorry, I know who you are.” Jane interrupts. “ _Everyone_ knows who you are.”

“Well then you can probably guess why we want to talk to you.” For what it’s worth, Miss Pyrope is being surprisingly tender with Jane, crouching by her side and looking in her general direction with a calm expression. You feel relieved not to be party to a rough interrogation of sorts. “Is it okay if we ask you a few questions?”

“I already told the mayor quite a bit.” Jane answers, chewing her lip and not focusing her gaze on anything in particular. “She told me to get my thoughts straight for when the police showed up.”

“Talking to us will help that.” Miss Pyrope assures her. “It’ll be good to get it out, Jane. Trust me.”

Jane Crocker glances up at you then and you attempt to give her a sympathetic look as well as a reassuring nod. The result though is that you probably just end up looking like you’re trying to pass a sickeningly-large kidney stone. Jane Crocker wrestles her hands in her lap and begins talking.

“It was just me and Mr. Rosewater working the late shift last night. We closed the doors sometime past two in the morning, after everyone else had left, and just spent some extra time sweeping up and stuff.” As she talks, Miss Pyrope elbows you in the side. You look down and see that she’s holding a notebook and pen for you to take. You quickly do so and begin scribbling Jane’s words. “I finished up early and Mr. Rosewater said that I could leave, so I did, and… that’s the last time I saw him.”

“Really?” Miss Pyrope asks. “That’s it? No one else came in the pub? You didn’t see Mr. Rosewater acting strange at all?”

“No, no, there was nothing strange. It was just a normal night.” Jane fists clench and unclench. “At least it was until-“

“Mayor Peixes tells me that you claim to have been attacked by something.” Miss Pyrope gets to the point.

“I was!” Jane’s eyes snap to Miss Pyrope with laser-like focus, wide and a little watery. “As soon as I stepped out of the doors, I was practically mauled. There,” She motions with her hand. “In the alley.”

You see that she’s pointing towards the same alley you and your boss had just dashed through not ten minutes ago, between the pub and a set of lopsided apartments. You make a note of the location on your notebook, as well as in your head. Miss Pyrope may wish to return there to investigate later.

“Can you describe the attacker? What happened exactly?”Miss Pyrope presses.

“It was a big dog- or a wolf!” Your witness is getting more and more excited as she speaks. “I saw it’s eyes first, glowing red like the devil’s, then it charged at me. I turned to run and it knocked me over and, well, that’s all I remember. I woke up sometime later and ran to the nearest house for help. Mrs. Brooks thought I was crazy when I told her what happened, but she called on the Mayor anyways.”

“And here we are.” Miss Pyrope finishes, scratching at her chin. “So, you say that the monster-“

“It wasn’t a _monster_.” Jane suddenly insists. “It was just a mad dog.”

Miss Pyrope grins what you’re coming to realize is her signature grin then, where her lips are drawn up so thin that they seem to disappear and her teeth flash in what light is available, seemingly beyond count. You feel a swell of respect for Jane when she doesn’t flinch away out of fright.

“Always the skeptic, aren’t you, Miss Crocker?” Your employer sniggers. “Even doubting what you see before your very eyes.”

“I know what I saw.”

“And I don’t doubt that. I’m merely offering a contrasting point of view. You can understand wanting to explore all of the possibilities, can’t you?”

“Some possibilities don’t _need_ to be explored.”

“Yes, but how do you tell the difference between what needs to be and what doesn’t?” Miss Pyrope taps a finger against her sunglasses, causing them to flash in the mid-morning sun. “I don’t know about you, but my confidence in such choices isn’t always the strongest. Come on, Jane. Play ball with me for a moment. How did this _monster_ attack you? Did it try to run straight through you, did it try to bite?”

“It hit me.” Jane admits. “In the back.”

“Could we see?”

“I guess?” Miss Crocker looks to you, confused, and you just shrug in response. You suppose Jane must realize there’s no harm in revealing her back to a blind woman, since she shifts on her stool, turns about, and faces the front window of Mr. Rosewater’s pub.

“Could you remove the blanket, your coat, and your dress please?” Miss Pyrope asks, reaching out to finger the cloth.

“Heaven’s no!”

“Oh, come on. I’m not asking you to forfeit your decency. I just want to see if you’ve got any marks on you. It will be quick. You don’t even have to take the dress off all the way if you want to be a prude.”

“I- well… don’t you think-“

“I’d do it if I were you, Miss Crocker.” You say, speaking for the first time. “Miss Pyrope will probably just badger you until you do and who knows! This might actually be going somewhere.”

Jane looks at you over her shoulder and you give her another, hopefully reassuring look, as well as a set of thumbs up. A small smile twitches at her lip and you consider that to be a victory, before she turns back again and swiftly shrugs off her blanket and coat. The dress is tied with strings up the back, but Miss Pyrope makes quick work of them with nimble fingers. It sags slightly, just enough to reveal Jane’s shoulder blades, and she catches the front to hold it against her chest.

A set of bruises, about a six inches apart, are pressed into the skin of her back. They’re large, deep purple in color, and unmistakably recognizable as a pair of large animal paws, like that of a dog. What dog would have paws the size of these though, is entirely beyond you. Whatever attacked Jane last night must have truly been a monster.

Slowly, Miss Pyrope reaches out and probes the skin of Jane’s back with her fingers. Jane hisses as the bruises are poked and prodded lightly.

“Well?” Jane asks through gritted teeth. “Are you both getting your fill?”

“Not yet, just a moment more please.” You employer, who has been crouching all this time, bounces to her feet then. In the blink of an eye, she’s suddenly pressed against your side and whispering lightly in your ear. “Sketch the marks in the notebook. I have a good idea of what they look like, but we’ll have to compare notes later.” Her breath tickles the hair on your neck and you fight a shiver. “In the meantime, I need your help with something real quick.”

“Okay. What?”

“Is Rose Lalonde in the crowd?”

You blink in surprise. That seems like a rather random question.

“I dunno.” You answer honestly.

“Well then look, dummy.”

You turn a gaze over your shoulder towards the assembled mob across the street. Sure enough, near the leftmost edge, stands Rose Lalonde, the librarian. She’s wearing another black dress today, as well as wielding a small, purple parasol that would look garish with anyone else, but somehow manages to come across as elegant with her. You notice deep, dark circles under her eyes and feel a twinge of sadness. A woman such as that should not be missing sleep.

“Egbert, stop gawking and tell me if she’s there or not.”

“Oh, yeah, sorry. She’s there. Why do you ask?”

“I want to talk to her. Be an assistant and point me in the right direction please.” Taking Miss Pyrope gently by the shoulders, you turn her in Rose’s direction and instruct her to walk straight. “Thanks. Start sketching the bruises. I’ll be back in two shakes of a fox’s tail.”

“Rabbit’s tail.” You correct, but Miss Pyrope has already set off across the street, cane _tap tap tapping_ ahead of her.

“Where’s she going?” Asks Jane, and you turn to see that she’s still very much exposed against the chilly air.

“Uh- she’s just stepped off to talk to someone.” You answer quickly, then press your pen to a clean sheet of paper. “Would you mind holding still for a moment longer? I just need to take quick sketch of the bruises.”

“So the monster- _dog_ did leave a mark?”

“Yeah, but it’s not too bad.” You lie as you draw. “They’ll heal up in no time and you wouldn’t even know they were ever there.”

“Oh thank goodness.” Jane sighs heavily and her head dips a bit. “I just want to forget about this whole rotten mess. I’ve never felt so… so out of sorts in my whole life. I feel like I might throw up and pass out at the same time, like-“

“Like you’re riding side-saddle on a runaway, three-legged horse?” You offer.

“Yeah.” Jane giggles quietly. “Something like that.”

You finish the sketch quickly and take a moment to compare it to the real thing. You’ve never claimed to be a good artist or even a half-decent one, but you feel adequately confident that your drawing matches the paw-prints close enough to be recognizable. In the very least, you’ll be able to recall what the marks on Jane’s back looked like should the need arise. Despite what others have said so far in regards to Miss Pyrope, you can’t deny that she is undeniably knowledge about what to do with this detective stuff.

“Not a bad rendition.” Drawls a snooty voice from over your shoulder. “I must say, I’ve never seen such capable penmanship from a Chinaman before. I’m impressed.”

“Um, I’m Korean.” You turn to the newcomer as Jane does up her dress again. “And what does that have to do with anything anyways?”

You immediately recognize this guy by his flowing cloak and fancy cane as one of the people in Mayor Peixes’s group of friends. Tall and thin, with a pointed chin and horn-rimmed glasses, this guy both looks and acts like he’s some kind of hot shit. And who knows? Maybe he is.

“Oh nothing, I’m simply just making comments.” Before you can stop him, he plucks the notebook from your hands and begins flipping through it. “So you’re Miss Pyrope’s latest boy-toy, hmmm?”

Latest? You never even considered that there had been other assistants before you. You wonder how many.

“I- er, suppose?” You don’t really know what to say. “What’s a boy-toy?”

“Just what you are.” The stranger hands you the notebook back again. “Although for how long, well, that’s a good question, isn’t it?” His eyes rove up and down your body, lingering on the knee brace. “If I had to make a guess though… I wouldn’t say very long. Haha.” He laughs then, but it’s the kind of laugh where you know that you aren’t expected to join in, but instead to just stand there and simply be laughed at.

“I don’t think I’ve caught your name yet.” You extend your hand. “John Egbert. I’m new.”

“Eridan Ampora.” His fingers lightly grasp yours for half a second. “I own the spot of land in the center of town. You know the one, with the silver church in it?”

“Ah yeah. I’ve seen it. That must be… fun?”

“Indeed.” A _tapping_ sound begins far off, but slowly rises in volume. You and Eridan both turn to see Miss Pyrope making her way back across the street towards you. “It was nice to meet you, John. Good luck in your investigation.” And with that, he sweeps his cloak around himself and stalks away down the street.

You watch him go until Miss Pyrope joins your side.

“Who’s Eridan Ampora?” You ask before she can speak.

“Was that who you were just talking to?” She responds, you assent, and she sighs. “Just some high-rolling land owner that likes spending time amongst the commonfolk just to flaunt his wealth and make everyone feel inferior.”

“Seems like a bad guy.”

“Don’t let him get to you. Guys all fancy jewelry and stupid capes.” She takes your arm again. “Did you get the sketch?”

“Yup. What did you talk to Rose about?” You can’t imagine what yourself. Out of everyone you’ve met so far, Rose and Terezi seem like a pair least likely to tangle words. Especially considering Rose’s stance on Terezi’s erratic behavior.

“Oh a little of this and a little of that. She’s wonderfully insightful in situations like these. Librarians are great listeners and even greater observers. You should write that down. Now,” Miss Pyrope cracks her neck and you wince. “Are you ready to get to work?”

“What?” You ask. “All of this before now hasn’t been work?”

“No! It’s been the delicious lead-up, of course. We’re getting down to business now.” Her sunglasses gleam as she looks up at you. “ _I’ve_ got us a lead.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading.  
> \- Mike


	4. A Girl and Her Dog

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Reveille for commenting.

 => Be John Egbert

You are still John Egbert. Which means that there ain’t no rest for the weary, especially when the weary in question has been roped into a highly technical and detail-oriented investigation, one that involves a surprising amount of running.

A lot of running.

“Where are we going exactly?” You huff, straining to keep a steady pace next to your employer. Having a bum knee for most of your life hasn’t exactly lead to many opportunities for exercise. “And why is it so important for us to _run_ there?”

“Like I told you, Egbert, I’ve got us a lead on the murder of Mr. Rosewater!” Miss Pyrope is still latched onto your arm, half using you as a guide and half dragging you over the rough stone road. Her cane taps ahead of you, leading the way like the needle of a compass. “And we’re running because time is of the essence! The last thing we want is for those shiny-shoed, behatted, blue collars to show up and step on our toes!”

“Oh, right.” In all the excitement, you’d almost forgotten that a proper police force was inbound to investigate the murder.

You wonder what will happen if they cross paths with you and Miss Pyrope. Will the two of you be locked up for breaking into a crime scene and making off with crucial evidence? (the bit of bone that used to belong to Mr. Rosewater, but now resides in Miss Pyrope’s pocket) Will Mayor Peixes sell you out to insure the citizens of Silverchurch keep peace of mind?  It’s hard to say honestly. The mayor and your boss seem to have a relatively respectable history, but then again, any good mayor would do whatever it takes to keep their town safe, and Mayor Peixes seems more than anything to be the most swell mayor anyone could possibly ask for. You suppose only time will tell.

“And to answer your question as to _where_ we are going,” Miss Pyrope continues, digging her nails into your arm and insisting non-vocally that now would be a good time to turn left. “Those bruises on Crocker’s back are sitting quite heavily in the forefront of my mind. They’re paw prints, right? About as big around as your head, and boy, do you ever have quite the large noggin.”

“Hey!” At first you’re a little insulted, then you’re curious. “Wait, how would you even know?”

“I can tell by the amount of air it displaces. Hehe.”

“Bullshit.”

“Anyways,” She keeps talking. “There’s only one dog this side of the country that I can think of that might leave paw prints that size on someone.”

“So, wait.” You dig your heels into the street and cause Miss Pyrope to come to slow, and wholly unwilling, halt. “You think that whatever attacked Jane just left her alive so that it could go and eat Mr. Rosewater instead? That doesn’t make any sense. Assuming it attacked Jane before it entered the pub, it could have had a full meal right there! No reason to go after Mr. Rosewater, no reason to leave behind any witnesses, and no reason to make such a horrible scene. Bleh!” You shiver at the afterimage of the massacre inside the pub.

“It doesn’t make much sense now, I understand that, but I really believe that whatever attacked Crocker killed Mr. Rosewater too.” Miss Pyrope shifts anxiously from foot to foot. You can tell that she wants to get moving again and that makes you appreciate her stopping to converse with you that much more. “For whatever reason, Jane was spared. It’s our job to find out that reason, and to get the ball rolling you and I are going to pay a visit to someone in town who just so happens to have a mutt big enough, bad enough, and tough enough to tear a grown man to shreds and bat a woman aside like she’s no more than your average house fly.”

“Um.” You swallow involuntarily. “Should we be visiting this person alone then? From what you’ve just said this… actually sounds pretty dangerous.”

“Oh there’s nothing to be afraid of, young assistant.” She pats you on the arm as the pair of you set off again. “Not a single hair on that oversized head of yours will be harmed as long as you’re with me, alright?”

For the umpteenth time, you give the private detective a quick look up and down. She can’t be much lighter than ninety pounds, or any taller than five and a quarter feet. Also she’s blind.

“Alright.” You agree, your voice a half octave higher than usual.

You continue through the streets at a much slower pace. Apparently Miss Pyrope has realized that you were struggling to keep up and has taken the necessary steps to accommodate for you, or maybe she’s just tired herself. You doubt the latter though, she’s still prancing along merrily by your side, hardly a drip of sweat on her brow or a heavy breath taken all morning.

Before today, you had willingly given Miss Pyrope all the respect anyone of her profession, class, or attitude would demand, but now, having seen her in action, your feelings for her are bordering on unadulterated awe.

She must feel your gaze on her, because she turns up to glance at you suddenly.

“Something on your mind, Egbert?” She asks.

“Not really.” You answer quickly. A bird twitters in a passing tree, Miss Pyrope hums a soft tune, and her cane continues to rap smartly against the ground. You rub the back of your neck. “Okay, wait, there actually is something that I’ve been wondering.”

“Yes, the carpet matches the drapes.”

“Gah! I wasn’t- that’s not... What the fuck?” You splutter, blushing horribly.

“BAHAHAHHAHA!” Miss Pyrope shrieks with laughter, rocking from side to side on the curb, and shaking you by the arm. “OH shit. I bet you’re as red as a tomato right now. Heheehe!”

“Am not!” You’re probably approaching nuclear levels of crimson at this point. “Why do you do that all the time?”

“Do what?”

“Fuck with me like that. It’s not funny.”

“It’s pretty funny. Hehe.”

“For you maybe. Shit.” You shake your head and look towards the sky, exhaling deeply. God, you think you feel a headache coming on.

“Was that your question?” She asks after a moment.

“Was what my question?” A stray breeze tousles your hair. You’ve already moved on.

“ _Why do I fuck with you all the time_ , was that your question, Egbert?”

“No.” You remember now. “It’s just… while you were talking to Rose, that Eridan guy told me some stuff.”

“What sort of stuff?”

“Nothing really important, just,” You think about how to phrase this and decide that ‘ _simply’_ is typically the best route. “Have you had other assistants before me?”

Her step falters, but she recovers quickly, and the smile she’d been wearing at your expense up till now vanishes, as if wiped away by a cleaning rag. You instantly regret asking.

“Eridan told you that?” She answers your question with one of her own. You can detect a palpable tinge of iciness in her words.

“Yeah. I mean, he just mentioned it in passing. It’s no big deal. We don’t have to-“

“I have had other assistants in the past, they didn’t… work out.” She answers. By now, you’re used to her not looking at you during conversations. Maintaining eye contact doesn’t matter when you can’t see. But at the moment, her head is turned in the complete opposite direction from you, facing the passing buildings.

“I see.” You can tell that this is a tender topic for some reason, and your gut urges you to drop it. However, you’re honestly curious. “How many?”

“Two, they were both just a couple of knuckleheads.” She inclines her head towards you then. “Like you.”

“Oh, well…” Your face is getting warm again. Damn your overzealous blood flow. “That’s nice. What happened to them?”

“One died and the other quit.”

“Whoa. What the fuck? One of them died?!” You try to stop walking, but Miss Pyrope rips your arm forward with more strength than you’d anticipate she was capable of. “Seriously? How did it happen? Miss Pyrope? Hey. How did he die?” You tap her on the shoulder. She isn’t answering. “Hey.”

“He was an idiot, alright!?!” Her shout causes you to flinch slightly. “Just like _you_! For fuck’s sake, are you happy now? You got me to divulge a critical portion of my dark and problematic past. Congratu-fucking-lations. Shit.”

She plows on ahead valiantly, dragging your stupid ass by the arm as she feels along the cub with her cane. You wonder if she’s really mad at your or not. It’s hard to tell really by the amount of shouting she typically does. A quick look at her face shows that her eyebrows are closely knit and that her mouth is shaped in a thin slash, like a scar across her face. Also you’re pretty sure that her nails are dug deep enough into your skin to draw blood. You hope not, this is the only coat you have.

“I’m sorry, Miss Pyrope.” You mutter, almost like a sigh. “I’m sorry about your old assistant. That’s a rough deal.”

“Yeah, well, shit happens.” She responds gruffly.

The pair of you continue in silence for a moment, each absorbed in your respective thoughts. Eventually, you muster the strength to ask:

“You don’t think I’m going to die too, do you?”

Her head snaps in your direction and, you’re happy to say, her aim is pretty dead-on this time around. Her frown deepens.

“No, Egbert. It’s like I said, nothing is going to hurt you as long as you stick with me, alright? Just…” There’s a beat as she thinks for a moment. “Just do what I say. Now come on,” She tugs you further, towards the end of the street. “We’re here.”

You’ve come to stop at the very edge of Silverchurch, clear on the opposite side of town from your home on Windyshade Lane. A very tall and lonely house sits perched atop a hill near a clump of trees, a dull grey in color and shaped loosely like a lighthouse, used to guide lost ships in from sea, except for the large, bulbous addendum at the top instead of a typical lantern room.

With confidence, Miss Pyrope leads you up the hill and to the base of the tower. A beautiful and very prosperous garden is arranged around the side of the structure and, if you stand on the tips of your toes, you can barely see the edge of a small lake through the cluster of trees. All in all, it’s a very pretty place and you wouldn’t mind dropping a few bucks on a pastel rendition of the property.

“Geez, this is a really nice place.” You admit quietly to your boss. “Who lives here?”

“Our prime suspect.” Answers Miss Pyrope as she bangs her fist roughly on the front door. “Get your notebook ready, let me do the talking, and most of all do _not_ be disarmed by her highly disarming personality. She may seem like a bundle of fun and all that, but she’s about as sharp as they come, and twice as clever.”

“Yeah, but who is she?”

Before Miss Pyrope can answer, another voice calls out, not from inside the house, but from around the rear of the tower.

“Coming, just a minute!”Cries a woman, who must be the homeowner. Your boss seizes your arm again and tugs you away from the door so that you can intercept the newcomer in the garden. The first thing you notice about this girl, as she peeks through a particularly large pair of pumpkins, is that her hair is absolutely massive, wildly unkempt, and unruly enough to probably house several large birds. A couple of turkeys or something, with more room to spare. “Oh, Hey! How’s it going, Terezi? And friend.”

“Harley.” Miss Pyrope greets with a smile and a nod. “What’s shaking?”

“Just tending my garden, you know how it is.” Harley steps out into the path in front of you and rises to her full height. She’s easily about four inches taller than you, which puts her towering above Miss Pyrope, and entirely made out of sinewy muscle earned from a life of hard labor and, if you had to guess, awesome rugged adventuring. “Do you want to come and see my gourds? I’ve got one that’s almost six feet tall now!”

“Sounds to me like you’ll be giving ol’ farmer Henry a run for his money at the next fair then. Hehe.”

“You bet! The prize this year is fifty dollars and novelty t-shirt with my name on it!” Harley laughs with all of her body, eyes crinkling behind her round wire glasses. “Come on, I’ll show you! It’s just in the backyard.”

“No thanks, Harley. I’m afraid we’ll have to put show and tell off for next time.” The detective waves the gardener back, who has already raced away several feet up the hill again. “There’s some stuff we gotta talk about.” Miss Pyrope thrusts you forward slightly. “This is John Egbert, by the way, my new assistant.”

“Nice to meet you! You can call me Jade.” Harley shakes with both of her hands. When you just nod in response, she looks to your boss. “Um, can he speak?”

“Of course he can!” Miss Pyrope gives you a hard _smack_ on the ass with her cane. “Speak, boy.”

“Er- Hi!” You give Jade the winning Egbert smile. “I’m new. “

“Awesome! I love meeting new people.” Jade rests her hands on her hips. “Believe it or not, we don’t get many visitors here in Silverchurch, mostly just people who take the wrong turn a few miles back and end up stuck here forever. Haha!”

“Really? Wow that’s actually pretty-“

“Alright, enough chatter you two.” Miss Pyrope interjects by pulling you back by her side, like a bad comedian being ripped off the stage giant hook. “The reason we’re here this morning, Harley, is actually pretty morbid, so It’d be nice if you treated the situation with the appropriate amount of frowning and wide-eyed stammering.”

“W-what are you talking about?” Jade asks, eyes wide and mouth curved into a frown. She looks confused and you honestly feel bad for her. There’s no way this nice-looking girl, with her dirty knees and calloused hands, could be connected to the vicious, man-eating murderer you’re looking for.

“There was a _murder_ late last night, Mr. Rosewater was slaughtered in his own pub, picked clean like a bit of road kill, and left to rot amidst the shattered remains of his life-long dream to possess and operate his very own business.”

“Oh no!” Jade gasps. “That’s terrible!”

“Tell me about it.” Miss Pyrope agrees and you shoot her a look, for all the good it will do. Does she really have to be so… so graphic? “But guess what? It doesn’t stop there either. Mr. Rosewater’s trusted part-time employee, Jane Crocker, was attacked not far from the scene of the crime and I suspect that her attacker and Mr. Rosewater’s murderer are undoubtedly one and the same.”

“Well… I guess _that’s_ a stroke of luck.” Jade muses unhappily. “At least we don’t have a murderer _and_ a mugger running around out there! Is there anything I can do to help with your investigation, detective- and John?”

“Actually, there is.” Miss Pyrope adjusts her grip on her cane. “I’d like to see Bec if you wouldn’t mind.”

“Bec?” At first Jade seems confused, then she looks horrified. “Oh no, no way! Terezi, you can’t think that Bec would go off and… and…” Apparently the thought is too horrendous to finish, as Jade’s mouth _snaps_ shut and her fingers rise to message her temple. “Terezi…”

“I just want to see him, Harley.” Miss Pyrope presses. “In cases such as these it’s imperative that we explore _all_ the possibilities, especially the one’s we’d least expect.”

“Yeah, but- but… This is just crazy! And dumb!” Jade stamps her foot, horror giving way to frustration. You feel another wave of sympathy wash over you. This poor girl was just minding her business before you came along to rattle her cage. “Bec would never do that! He’s happy eating what I feed him all by myself, thank you very much.”

“Come on, Harley.” Miss Pyrope’s glasses flash in a ray of sunlight. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be. The sooner I take a look at him, the sooner we can scratch him off my hot list, maybe.”

Jade looks ready to argue some more, but must think better of it. You watch her eyes flit back and forth between you and your boss, then back up the hill where she’d originally come from. The wheels are turning in her head, almost loud enough for you to hear, as she chews her lip. Eventually, she acquiesces:

“Bec!” She calls.

At first, nothing happens. You’re left standing awkwardly with two grumpy women in a garden that looks as if it was ripped straight from the pages of a Lewis Carroll book, feeling like perhaps you should say something to break the tension, maybe a joke to lighten Jade’s mood and maybe earn a chuckle or two from Miss Pyrope. However, before you can make a fool of yourself, the early trembling of an earthquake rattles the ground beneath your feet.

“Wha-“ You grab onto Miss Pyrope for support, as the rumbling becomes more ferocious. Your boss holds onto you back, although less tightly for a change, and you’re about to ask why neither she nor Jade are freaking out about this when the source of the tremors comes bounding into view.

It’s a dog, or at least something that at one point probably could have been considered a dog, before it was exposed to radioactive waste and mutated into the size of a small pony. The beast is massive, with powerful muscles rippling under it’s snow-white fur, and giant paws the size of trash can lids that shake the ground with each step. Without even flinching, Jade reaches out as the dog approaches and embraces it warmly as it leans into her, causing her to stumble slightly.

“There’s a good boy.” She cheers happily, rubbing her hand through it’s shaggy fur.

You’re currently thunderstruck, frozen staring so confoundedly at _Bec_ that it takes Miss Pyrope several swift jabs to your gut in order to get your attention. She mimes scribbling on her hand when you look down at her and you quickly realize that you actually have a job to do.

Miss Pyrope approaches the dog and his owner as you fumble to retrieve the notebook from your bag.

“Would it be okay if I…?” Miss Pyrope gestures vaguely, but Jade gets the idea.

“You can poke and prod all you want, detective.” Jade says proudly. “Bec wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

“I most certainly hope so.” You watch with bated breath as your boss approaches Bec and presses her thin and now very breakable-looking fingers against his chest. With a soft, little whimper, Bec stretches out his neck and nuzzles his snout against Miss Pyrope’s cheek. To the detective’s credit, she remains mostly impassive, although you catch the small quirk in her lip as she feels her way down Bec’s side.

She runs her fingers over his enormous paws, testing his nails against her skin and checking between his little dog-toes or whatever you call those things. His lip gets pulled up next, exposing blindingly-white teeth that look as sharp as razors. Miss Pyrope speaks over her shoulder to you as she searches, describing her findings aloud as she goes.

“He’s pretty well-groomed and clean for a dog, you know?” She says. “Nothing but dirt on his paws and dust in his fur. When’s the last time you bathed him, Harley?”

“Just two nights ago.” Answers Jade. She’s standing nearby with her arms folded, watching Miss Pyrope carefully. “I try to rinse him down about twice a month, but he hates baths and it can be hard to get him to do something he doesn’t want to do. Haha.”

“Yes. I can imagine.” Miss Pyrope mutters in agreement and Jade’s laughter quickly grows quiet. The longer and more invasive Miss Pyrope’s search goes, the more Jade seems uncomfortable, chewing her lip so hard your surprised she hasn’t drawn blood yet.

Prying Bec’s jaws open takes a bit of effort, but your boss manages it. You’re partially afraid that a particularly strong gust of wind could pick Miss Pyrope up and send her tumbling head-first into Bec’s maw and you almost reach out to grab her by the collar, but the rational side of your brain stops you. It’s just a silly, stupid thought, after all.

“What did you have to eat last, big boy?” Miss Pyrope asks, petting the length of Bec’s neck as she crooks her head towards his collection of teeth. You stick your tongue out in disgust as Miss Pyrope takes a deep whiff and then smiles wickedly. “Salty, bloody, a little crispy. What? Bacon?”

“We _did_ have filet mignon wrapped in bacon for dinner last night.” Jade states plainly.

You’re wondering what kind of person feeds their dog filet mignon when Miss Pyrope retreats from Bec and rejoins your side, brushing stray dog hair from her coat and hair like snow.

“Thank you for your time, Jade. I think we have all the relevant data we can collect at this time.” She says, as if reading her lines from an index card taped to the inside of her sunglasses.

“What? That’s it?” Jade seems surprised. “You’re not going to apologize?”

“Apologize? For what?”

“For coming to my home and accusing my dog of murder!”

“I didn’t _accuse_ him. I just said he was a suspect.” Miss Pyrope corrects. “And guess what, he _still_ is a suspect. Hehehe!”

“Aw! You’ve got to be joshin me!” Jade growls in frustration. “You just searched him from head to tail. He’s clean, right? What else do you want?”

“This is only the first step of many steps on the investiga-latory ladder to justice.”

“That’s not even a word.”

“And,” Miss Pyrope continues as if Jade hadn’t spoken. “A final verdict as to who is potentially guilty and who isn’t will not be decided until the true culprit has been locked behind bars in the town hall. Then, and only then, will I consider maybe apologizing as a possibility, a slight possibility.”

“I wouldn’t count on it.” You add sheepishly. “Sorry.”

Jade folds her arms again and Bec, probably sensing his master’s frustration, draws a long line of dog-spit up the side of her face as he gives her a long, wet lick.

“Woof!” Bec says.

“Woof! Hehe.” Agrees Miss Pyrope.

Jade sighs and slings an arm around her dog’s shoulders. Your eyes meet and she gives you a nod and a small smile. You’ll consider that a victory.

“Alright, I suppose I can’t hold it against you guys. You are just doing your job, after all.” She admits, scuffing her bare feet in the dirt. You think you’re starting to like Jade quite a bit. There’s some naturally, genuine wildness to her that just contrasts so harshly with this dreary little town, you can’t help but like it. You wonder how she ended up here. Perhaps she made a wrong turn a few miles back down the road. “If you have any more investiga-latory things you want to do. I suppose you’ll know where to find us.”

“Maybe we’ll swing by and check out that gourd later!” You offer. “If you’ll let us, I mean.”

“Of course!” Jade brightens considerably at that. “Come by any time!”

After bidding her farewell, you and Miss Pyrope begin picking your way down the hill again, back towards the town proper. You think that after the most recent series of events Miss Pyrope would want some time to herself, to mull over the new facts or whatever. Instead, she surprises you by immediately jumping into conversation as soon as Jade is out of earshot.

“What do you think, Egbert?” She asks.

“About what?”

“About this coat? Does it make my hips look big?”

“Uh…” You give her coat a quick look over. “I dunno. I can’t really- Ow!” She slaps you across the head. “What the hell?!”

“I don’t give a fuck what you think about my coat, idiot. I wanna know what you think about Jade and her giant bark-beast!” She snaps. “Ugh! What’s the matter with you, seriously? Half the time it’s like you’re not even here.”

“I’m totally here! Check out all these sweet notes I just took.” You hand Miss Pyrope your notebook and she runs her fingers over the pages.

“These are some pretty sweet notes.”

“Tell me about it!” You take quick second while she’s distracted to rub where she’d struck you. You think you feel a bruise coming on. “So, I guess it’s back to the drawing board, huh?”

“What the hell do you mean?”

“Well obviously Bec didn’t attack Jane and kill Mr. Rosewater. He was at Jade’s house eating fancy meats wrapped in bacon all night. You didn’t find any blood on him, he seems like the nicest dog ever, despite his size, and Jade seems like the last person on the planet to cover up something like that.”

“People can be blinded by love, Egbert.” Miss Pyrope counters. “It’s one of the universe’s sickest jokes. I bet that Harley would do anything to keep her precious mutt out of trouble. It’s possible that she cleaned Bec after he came home to her, covered in the blood of the innocent and oozing with a thirst for human flesh.”

“But she said she gave him a bath two nights ago, not this morning.” The pair of you come to a stop at the very bottom of the hill, right on the verge of reentering town. “Face it, Miss Pyrope. If Bec actually did do what you think he did, you could probably tell, no problem. He’d smell like blood or something.”

“Jade could have cleaned him, Egbert.”

“And gotten all of that blood out of his snowy fur? It seems very unlikely. Also,” You snap your fingers, struck by a sudden thought. “Bec’s eyes are green and Jane Crocker said that the thing that attacked her had glowing _red_ eyes. So it couldn’t have been him. If you want my professional diagnosis, a hungry wolf got into town and just happened to stumble on Jane and Mr. Rosewater and had himself a big meal, no mystery, no magic, no suspects or anything like that.”

“I wouldn’t come to a conclusion all on your lonesome like that, Egbert.” Miss Pyrope warns. She steps away from you and taps her cane through the grass, coming to a stop a few feet away before dropping into a crouch. You follow closely. “Once you’ve got something like that in your mind, you begin altering facts to fit your theories, instead of vice versa.”

You wrinkle your nose when you see what Miss Pyrope has found in the grass: a pile of animal droppings, clearly dog’s, and definitely large enough to be Bec’s.

“In times like these,” Miss Pyrope continues, as she calmly prods the droppings with the tip of her cane. “It’s important to keep an open mind.”

You’re about to ask what the fuck she’s doing, playing with dog shit, when she uncovers something in the disgusting pile, something that gleams white in the feeble rays of sun that filter in through the clouds. From her pocket, Miss Pyrope produces a handkerchief and unfolds it to reveal the piece of bone she took from Mr. Rosewater’s corpse.

You can’t deny her, the bone in her hand matches the bone on the ground quite a bit.

“How did you find that?” You ask, slightly impressed and very grossed out, looking between the two bones.

“How did you _not_?” She retorts, wiping the tip of her cane on the grass. Rising to her feet, she searches her pockets for a moment, before producing a second rag. “Be and dear and collect this evidence for me, would you?”

“What? You mean _this_ evidence?” You gesture towards the literal crap on the ground, but Miss Pyrope doesn’t answer, she’s already begun striding powerfully back into town, leaving you once again to simply groan, and do as your told.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Geez this took a while to write, almost five days! In my defense, I have been picking up a lot of hours at work recently, but whatever, I write when I can, usually when I’m half asleep and when I should be doing something else. Oh well. I appreciate your patience.
> 
> Thanks for reading. It means a lot.  
> \- Mike


	5. Everybody Hates Terezi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to godlessAdversary and Ingrown Flair for commenting.

=> Be John Egbert

You are John Egbert. Which means that there isn’t a whole lot that you can understand right now. Shit’s just too confusing for your poor little brain to process. You suppose that’s a major reason why you’re the _assistant_ in this highly puzzling, yet oddly fulfilling professional relationship, instead of the _detective_.

For instance, the more you think about this whole murder debacle, the more your head hurts. Why was Jane spared and Mr. Rosewater killed? Would a wild animal discriminate like that? You wouldn’t know. Your experience with nature up till now has been the hundred yard walk from your front door down the street to the market. Speaking of which, is Miss Pyrope ever going to stop for a break? You’ve been walking/running all day! Does she have like unlimited reserves of energy stored somewhere in that little body of hers? You should probably consider hitting the gym sometime if you plan on keeping up with her in the future. You wouldn’t mind jogging, but is it always so cold in this town? Why are there a bunch of police officers outside of your new house?

There are police officers outside of Miss Pyrope’s house.

“Shit.” You gasp.

“What is it?” Miss Pyrope crooks her head towards you.

“I think the police force from Rainbowfalls is here.”

“Oh great.” She mutters under her breath just loud enough for you to hear. “Here we go.”

There are five of them gathered on the front steps of four-thirteen. Three men and two women, dressed in pitch black uniforms with shiny belt buckles and even shinier pistols strapped to their hips. You find your eyes naturally drawn to the weapons, curious and a little bit apprehensive, having never seen one up close before.

You have the sudden urge to turn around and lead Miss Pyrope in the opposite direction, but it’s quelled quickly, more by your boss’s firm grip than your own fortitude.

“How’s it going, Terezi?” One of the officers waves as you cross the street. “Long time no see.” It’s a woman, with long limbs and even longer hair, wearing a pair unusual eyeglasses the likes of which you’ve never seen before. One of the lenses is clear while the other appears to be tinted black, upon closer inspection though; you see that the dark lens has actually just been lacquered with paint so that it’s impossible to see though.

Odd, you think, until you notice the heavy scaring that peeks out from beneath the black lens and the now all-too-obvious way she carries her left arm, overly stiff, like it’s made of metal. And it totally is. You can tell that this lady has seen some serious shit and lived to tell the tale.

“You know it’s impolite to stare, junior.” The woman snaps the fingers of her flesh hand in front of your face, drawing you back to attention. “What’s the matter? Never seen a lady this smoking hot before?”

“Er-“ You begin uncertainly as everyone, save Miss Pyrope, shares a laugh. The bespectacled, one-armed woman, who you’re starting to suspect is the person in charge, laughs the loudest, throwing her head back and sending her tangled mess of hair flipping through the air. Fuck. She _is_ hot.

Why is it that everyone you ever meet is like super attractive? Is your lack of romantic partners leading to some weird, lopsided pining for everything with a pulse? You hope not. That’s bound to get you in trouble one of these days.

You’re contemplating a cold shower, when you realize that people are talking.

“You sure know how to pick them, Terezi.” The police woman continues, shaking her head and leering in your direction. “Where’d you find this one? The lost and found over at town hall?”

“The dog pound actually, they called and said they found a lost puppy in the streets.” Miss Pyrope’s lips pull back into a snide grin. “You know me, I couldn’t exactly leave him out in the cold, could I? I’m a sucker for charity cases.”

Everyone laughs again, including Miss Pyrope this time. You stand there and watch them all. To the untrained eye, it might genuinely seem like they’re all having a good time, laughing at the lost expression on your face and catching up like old friends. However, you’re standing close enough to see the frostiness in the chief policewoman’s good eye and it doesn’t take a genius to register your employer’s steely grip on your sleeve as blatant agitation. You decide to try and break some of the underlying tension.

“Sorry, officers.” You begin with a smile. “I’m being rude. My name is John Egbert. I’m new.”

“Vriska Serket.” The policewoman grins at you, like a cat that’s corned a particularly plump mouse. “Although, I’d rather you call me _officer_. If it’s all the same to you.”

“Of course, officer.” You shake hands quickly. “So, um- what can we do for you today?”

“Aw, what’s the matter, John?” Vriska frowns. “I can’t just swing by Silverchurch’s resident detective and detective-ette for a quick chat?”

“No! Of course you can!” You reply quickly. “I’m just thinking that you know, while you’re here, maybe we can help you with something.”

“That’s awfully nice of you.” Vriska smiles again. “Where are you from, John? People around here don’t usually have manners like you.”

“Maple Valley.” You answer proudly. “It’s west of here, near the mountains.”

“Sounds cold.”

“Yeah, it gets a bit chilly. During the summer though, we get breezes from the ocean and that’s-“

“Enough jibber jab!” Miss Pyrope suddenly barks. “I know what you’re doing, Vriska, and it won’t work. If you want something, just come out and say it.”

You’re completely taken aback by your boss’s interjection. Vriska though, merely brushes a few stray locks of hair over her shoulder and regards Miss Pyrope coolly, taking it in stride.

“Easy there, Terezi. With an attitude like that, someone might think you’ve got something to hide.” Vriska shoots you another smile, one that you see no problem in returning. The officer continues. “Mind if I ask where you two have been all morning?”

“Doing a bit of light shopping.” Miss Pyrope answers.

“Really? Where are your shopping bags then?”

“I said _light_ shopping. We don’t need bags.”

“What’d you buy?”

“Fleas for our flea circus.”

You bite back a chuckle and Vriska shoots you a third glance in as many minutes, minus the smile.

“I know you were at the crime scene, Terezi, you and your little John.” The police officer leans over Miss Pyrope. “The Mayor told me that you might have information relevant to our investigation.”

“We happened to pass by the scene.” Miss Pyrope admits. “But as you can imagine, I didn’t get the chance to _see_ much. Hehe. If you came looking for a lead, you’ve come to the wrong place. Maybe you should be digging through the scene of the crime yourself, instead of trying to mooch off other people’s work.”

“Ha!” Vriska jabs a finger into the shorter woman’s sternum triumphantly. “So you do have something!”

“Just an incredible lack of confidence in your policing abilities.” Miss Pyrope brushes Vriska’s hand away from her chest. “And a desire to go into my house for a quick nap. If you would please excuse us.”

Miss Pyrope moves to brush past the police officer, but Vriska’s arm suddenly lashes out, blocking her path like a heavy rope outside of fancy club or something. For a brief, terrifying moment, you’re worried that the two women might abruptly, and completely irrationally, decide to start clawing at each other like a pair of wildcats. You watch Miss Pyrope’s hand tighten on her cane, see Vriska shift her head in vain to try and make eye contact, and you clear your throat, ready to step in when:

“Vriska.” A policeman who’s been leaning against the wall this whole time speaks up. “Come on.”

The hardness in Vriska’s eye doesn’t disappear, but she reluctantly moves her arm and steps aside, lip rising to bear a sharp incisor. You breathe a sigh of relief as you’re tugged forward by the arm, up the front steps and to the door.

“I’ll catch you later, Terezi.” Vriska calls, determined to have the last word.

Miss Pyrope, much to your pleasure, doesn’t respond, but instead wordlessly unlocks the door to her home and slips inside. You follow, sure to give the assembled police officers a respectful nod before you shut the door. Your last glimpse of Vriska is that of her smiling at you, all iciness apparently gone. It sends tingles down your spine and you’re sure to take a second to steel yourself against the wall after there’s an inch of bright red, solid wood between you and her.

Miss Pyrope is angrily shrugging off her coat, talking to herself.

“Who does she think she is? Coming here like that with her _posse_ , camping outside my house, harassing my employees. Ha!” She throws her cane indo the umbrella stand and kicks off her shoes, sending them tumbling down the hall. “Incompetent, smug, bossy…”

“Who? Vriska?” You ask.

“Of course Vriska, who else?!” Miss Pyrope throws her hands in the air as she stalks to her office. You follow closely. “She does this every time she gets called down here, drops by so that she can check up on what I’m doing, see if she can’t wrangle me in for obstructing justice or some other crap. Ugh!”

She throws herself into her desk chair with perfect aim and spins lazily in a circle. Rolling your eyes, partially in agreement with your boss and partially in just plain old exaggeration, you begin unloading the messenger bag you were tasked with carrying all morning on a nearby table.

“Maybe she looks up to you, in a backwards convoluted kind of way.” You offer. “Like, maybe she visits you because she thinks you might actually be able to help. She seemed to be kind of nice for a bit there.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, don’t tell me that she’s already won you over!” Miss Pyrope groans heavily.

“What? No! Nobodies won anyone over, I’m just saying-“

“She’s already got her grubby little claws under your skin, all those disarming questions about where you’re from, those little compliments. You’re as good as gone, Egbert. I can already tell.” With vigor, Miss Pyrope leans over her desk and points a stern finger in your direction. “Don’t talk to her if I’m not around. You’re helpless enough as is that she’s bound to weasel something out of you if I’m not there to keep you in check.”

“Ok great.” You pull your notebook out of the bag and throw it down with the rest of the evidence, more than a little hurt by your boss’s words. “Just when I thought I was earning your trust too.”

“It’s not you I don’t trust.” Leaning back in her chair, she rubs at her eyes under her glasses. “Shit. I need a drink.”

“Want me to grab you something? Tea? Coffee?”

“Some brandy would be nice, and some cake!” Miss Pyrope waves her hand towards the door. “After that, compile your notes and lock the evidence and such in the safe under the stairs. We’ll go over it later, after dinner.”

“Yes got it.”

With all the proficiency and enthusiasm expected from an assistant of your caliber, you do as your told, fetching Miss Pyrope her afternoon snack and then moving and neatly stacking your notes and the evidence in the large, steel safe tucked under the steps leading upstairs. You pull a face in disgust as you quickly toss the two, rag-covered bone fragments into the compartment, and hasten to wash your hands. After buying fresh clothes and maybe a bed for your room, you’ll have to invest in some gloves.

You’re just contemplating whether or not to take a quick nap while Miss Pyrope cools off, when the there’s a knock at the door.

“If they ask for me, I’m not home!” Miss Pyrope calls as you pass by her office.

Fearing the worst: that Vriska has returned to pick your brain, you take your time unfastening the locks to the door. However, to your great surprise and pleasure, it’s none other than Dave Strider who awaits you on the top step.

“Yo.” He smirks, giving you a decidedly _cool_ nod.

“Dave!” You cheer. “What’s up? I haven’t seen you all morning.”

“Yeah, well not all of us have unlimited time to run around, chilling at crime scenes and accusing housedogs of murder. I’ve got a business to run, dude.”

Your heart sinks and you take a swift glance up and down the street before looking back at Dave.

“How did you know we were at the crime scene? How do you know that we questioned Jade?” You demand rapidly. Jesus, are you really being _that_ unsubtle with your investigation. You’ll have to sharpen your skills. “Does anyone else know what we’ve been doing?”

He holds up his hands in defense.

“Jade came by the shop like fifteen minutes ago. She told me, dude.”

“Oh.”

“Heh.” Dave smirks again. “A little jumpy, are we? Not feeling so big after hurting a poor girl’s feelings, huh?”

“We didn’t mean to hurt her feelings.” You argue, feeling your heart sink further. “Miss Pyrope says that it’s important to explore all the options in situations like these. Jade understands that. And,” You take another glance down the street, checking to make sure the coast is clear before continuing. “We just got a visit from those cops that came from Rainbowfalls. Miss Pyrope thinks they’re trying to jack our evidence.”

“Why do you call her that?”

“What? Who?”

“Your boss, dude. Why do you call her _Miss Pyrope_? Did she tell you to call her that?”

“No. She never told me to call her anything. Miss Pyrope is just her name.” You shrug. You haven’t really thought of it before.

“Well, okay. Whatever.” Dave seems a bit annoyed. Obviously the visit from Jade and his cool-bro attitude are grating against your own sensibilities. “You need to loosen up, Egbert. _Miss Pyrope_ won’t fire you if you call her by her first name. Also those cops were just doing their job. Don’t act like it was some personal attack on your privacy.”

“You weren’t here, man. That Vriska is… something else. I guess you might be right thought.” You rest against the doorframe. “It’s just been a wacky couple of days. I’m still… adjusting.”

“No worries.”

“Will you tell Jade that I’m sorry?”

“You can tell her yourself. There’s actually a reason I came by, besides to just chat it up.” He pulls open the front of his jacket and reaches inside, retrieving a slip of paper. “There’s gonna be a party at Jade’s place and you’re invited.”

“Are you serious!?” You take the card and give it a quick once over.

As you read, your smile must drop, since Dave continues:

“Well, I _say_ it’s a party, but it’s actually a wake for Mr. Rosewater. Jade’s having it out behind her house since there’s a lot of space back there. It won’t be as morbid as it sounds, I promise. You should come, man. You can meet all the peeps in town finally and also,” Dave’s lip quirks. “Rose has been wanting to see you again.”

“Really? She has?” You feel an odd twinge in your gut, different than before, a much more pleasant twinge.

“Hey, don’t get any ideas, Egbert.” Dave must read the look on your face, since he wags a stern finger at you. “That’s totally my sister and you’ve been here less than a week. Try to keep those horrible urges of yours tucked into those little trousers, capiche?”

“W- won’t be a problem, Dave. Heh.  You know, I want to see her too. Hell, I’ve want to see everyone!”

“Then you’ll be there, right? Jade’s being real cool extending this invitation, you’d be a real dick not to…” Dave trails off as footsteps come racing down the hall behind you. You turn to see Miss Pyrope sprinting towards you at top speed and, almost on instinct, you extend your arm outwards to stop her from running and toppling straight down the front steps. “Yo, Tz.” Dave says, face impassive.

“Dave.” Miss Pyrope grins widely, coming to a stop against your forearm. “I see you’ve finally come crawling back. Hehehe.”

“Not exactly.” He scratches his nose and looks towards the ground. You wonder what that’s about.

“Then to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I- er.” Dave looks up again and tugs at his collar, appearing uneasy for the first time. “I was just talking to, John.”

“About what?”

“Jade’s throwing a party!” You explain happily. Dave’s eyes widen behind his shades. “Well, it’s not really a party, more of a wake for Mr. Rosewater. Don’t worry though. Dave says that it won’t be as morbid as it sounds.” Dave is simultaneously shaking his head and furiously swiping his hands through the air. You realize too late that he’s trying to get you to shut up. “Do you wanna come?”

“A party? Of course I want to come! Haha!” Miss Pyrope practically jumps for joy. Dave, meanwhile, audibly groans. “We’ll have to work overtime to get through our evidence later, but really, it’s been _ages_ since everyone’s gotten together like this! I better start getting ready, huh?”

Miss Pyrope turns to retreat into the house, but suddenly Dave lunges forward and snags her by the wrist, stopping her in her tracks.

“Uh, hold on a second there, Tz.” He says.

“What’s up, Dave? Oh, am I supposed to bring something? I have some plum pudding in the fridge that’s only a few weeks old. That should work.”

“No, fuck. Just listen.” Dave grinds his teeth as he talks. “The invitation is- fuck, it’s only for John, alright?”

You squeeze your eyes shut. Fuck, you’re stupid.

“What?” Miss Pyrope asks, smile breaking like glass.

“You aren’t invited. They don’t want you to come.”

“Who’s _they_?”

“Pretty much everyone.” Dave looks at you, then back to your boss. His lips are closed so tightly he might as well not even have a mouth. “Yeah. I’m sorry, Tz, but you gotta understand. Tonight’s kind of a big deal and everything. No one’s died here in a long time and, you’re right, we haven’t all gotten together like this in ages, so…”

“I get it.” Miss Pyrope pulls her arm from Dave’s grasp. Everyone stands silently for a moment, frozen in a block of solid, tangible awkwardness, then Dave coughs once and Miss Pyrope runs her fingers through her hair, wincing when she runs across knots. “Whatever. I didn’t even want to go. It’d probably just be super boring, like who even cares if Jade is growing gourds the size of a cart horse. I got plenty to do here.”

“Of course you do.” Dave shoves his hands in his pockets and begins trotting down the steps to the street. “See you tonight, John. You know, if you’re still coming.” He talks over his shoulder.

You wave, but he doesn’t see.

When you turn back to your boss, she’s already gone. You track her to her office though and find her sitting on the edge of her desk, spinning a cane between her hands and frowning, obviously deep in thought. You knock gently on the doorframe.

“You don’t have to knock, idiot. I know you’re there.” She spits.

“I won’t go to this party if you don’t want me to.” You scuff your shoe in the gap between the floorboards of the hallway and that of her office. “We could just hang out here and go through our evidence.”

“Naw, you should go.”

“Really?”

“Sure. What do I care?” Miss Pyrope stands up and moves to the chair behind her desk. “I’ve got work to do here and anything I might need you for can wait.”

“Are you sure?”

“Hell yes, I’m sure! Mr. Rosewater is dead as fuck, what’s he gonna care if his murder goes unsolved for a little bit longer.”

“I feel like you’re being really passive aggressive right now.” You admit.

“Do you see this face?” Miss Pyrope indicates her own sharp features. “This is my genuinely uninterested face.” Her mouth forms a line, straight as an arrow. “Go to the party or not. I literally do not care.”

“Alright. Whatever you say, ma’am.” You watch her for a moment, as she runs her hands over her desk, not necessarily doing anything, but more _appearing_ to be busy. You rub the back of your neck. “I’ll just be in my room then, getting ready.”

“Mhmm.” She hums.

You sigh and leave her there, feeling a heaviness in your chest that you’re starting to associate with hurting people’s feelings. It’s strange and unfamiliar and you don’t like it. As you climb the stairs, you promise to make it up to your boss. Maybe you’ll bring her a slice of cake from the party (god you hope there’s cake) or maybe you’ll ask around and find out why no one can seem to cut her some slack. Sure she’s abrasive and acts more than a little nonsensical sometimes, but she’s actually pretty cool!

Yeah, you decide once you’re up in your room, you’ll set them straight.

* * *

The invitation says to be there at six-o-clock sharp, but you’re only just heading out the door then. It was simply too difficult to decide on which tie best matched your shirt, brown on white, or blue on grey, or brown on grey, or blue on white? It took about thirty minutes to decide and then another ten minutes for you to realize that you didn’t even know how to tie a necktie in the first place so like what the fuck.

You debated whether or not to ask Miss Pyrope, but decided against it. She probably wouldn’t know how to tie one either and just bringing up the party again would probably put her in a sour mood, much worse than the one she’s currently flaunting.

“Alright, Miss Pyrope, I’ll see you later then!” You call to her from the door.

“Whatever!” She responds.

Exhale noisily, dejectedly, to yourself, you step outside and start off down the street. You hate to leave things hanging between the two of you like that. You wonder if it’s really worth going to this party only to drive a wedge between you and your boss. You can deal with upsetting some of the townsfolk, but Miss Pyrope you’re going to have to deal with forever.

Right?

You look over your shoulder back at the house and see the curtains close quickly, as if someone had just been peeking through them, watching you as you walked. That’s weird. You know Miss Pyrope’s bothered by all this, but you seriously doubt she’d stoop so low as to become a peeping tom. Also she’s fucking blind.

Shaking the confusing thoughts from your head, you set your mind back on course: having a pleasant time at this little get-together, making some new friends, reaffirming old ones, and possibly doing some detective-ing of your own.

If you come home with some more clues for the case, then Miss Pyrope is bound to turn that frown upside-down! Also if you can get an honest answer for why she wasn’t invited in the first place, then that’ll be just icing on the cake.

You smile to yourself as you climb the hill up to Jade’s tower. Everything is going to be just fine.

“John! You’re here!” Jade squeals, the first to see you round the corner of the house. “Thank you so much for coming!”

“I wouldn’t miss it!” You offer her your hand, but she hugs you instead. “Uh- Heh, thanks for inviting me Jade. It was really nice of you. Although I gotta ask, why isn’t this being held at Mr. Rosewater’s house?”

“Oh, Mr. Rosewater lived above his pub. There’s not enough room in there for all this.” Jade releases you and gestures about her garden, abuzz with activity. “Also there’s apparently blood and guts scattered all over the place and it’s an active crime scene, so yeah. I offered to have it here instead!”

“It looks great!” And it does. Cheap wooden tables have been erected between rows of crops, a stage manned by the one and only Dave Strider rests against the base of the tower, bordered by a pair of giant gourds, and in the middle of it all: a large keg of beer. People, familiar and otherwise, mill about in clusters here and there. You’re anxious to get into the thick of it, but you have other matters to attend to first. “Listen, Jade. While I have you here, I just want to say that I’m sorry for all that mess earlier.”

“You mean when you ambushed me at my home, accused me of being an accomplice to a murder, charged my _dog_ of having gone rabid, and then performed a full and highly invasive search on him?”

“Um. Yeah. All of that.”

“Don’t worry about it!” Jade throws an arm around your shoulders and begins steering you towards the crowd. “You were just doing your job. It’s all water under the bridge. Besides, look at Bec.” She points over to where a group of small children are running around, and sometimes between, the massive dog’s paws. Bec barks happily and wags his tail, nearly decapitating one of the tikes. “He’s already forgotten all about it!”

“Well, then that’s great to hear.” You feel the weight in your stomach lighten a bit. For a moment, you consider telling her about the bone you found in the dog droppings. However, it strikes you that that’s a terrible idea, so in a rare moment of tact, you wisely don’t. “Those are some nice gourds, by the way.”

“I know, right? They’re getting so big! I’m worried they’ll start starving the other crops though. I’ll to see about transplanting them to another plot soon, or else I might lose them.” She brings you all the way to the thick of the party. “Now, I know that this is a wake and all and that it’s supposed to be a solemn affair, but we really don’t have many opportunities to get together like this, so don’t be freaked out if no one’s crying or anything. Mr. Rosewater wouldn’t want that anyways. I gotta go help Dave get set up. We’ll be playing a set pretty soon! Maybe we can get some dancing going? Who knows? Go make friends, okay?”

“Okay!”

And with that, she pushes you gently towards the keg of beer and disappears into the crowd.

This is only the second wake you’ve ever been to before. The first being your Nanna’s like ten years ago, and boy, was that a completely different experience. Here in the garden, people are laughing and talking and getting completely plastered from the beer you’re pretty sure was taken from Mr. Rosewater’s pub. You fill a cup and take it walking with you.

Mayor Peixes is smiling, rosy-cheeked, and conversing with Eridan Ampora at a nearby table. You’re sure to give them a wide birth. You pass many unfamiliar people, but contradictory to your original plan you don’t stop to introduce yourself. They all look like they’re having fun with their friends, co-workers, and neighbors, and an unpleasant pang in your gut cuts through your manners like a hot knife through butter. Damn social anxiety, damn it to hell.

You spot Jane Crocker sitting at a table alone and consider going to speak with her. Before you get the chance though, she’s suddenly rushed by a pair of blonde individuals, a woman and a man, both very drunk and both obviously close friends of Jane. You watch the man shove a drink into her hands and the woman bump her with her hip. Something about the pair looks familiar. Perhaps they’re relatives of Rose and Dave.  The man certainly looks like Dave, with his pointed sunglasses and wry smirk. You’ll find out for sure later. For now though, you’ll give the friends some time to themselves.

Eventually, it’s Tavros Nitram who lands your attention.

“Hey, Tavros.” He’s sitting in his wheelchair near the edge of the group, nursing a beer of his own.

“John.” His eyes widen when he sees you. “Er- Terezi isn’t here, is she?”

“Nope. She wasn’t invited.” You take your spot next to him, holding your drink by your side. A flashback comes to mind, that of you standing awkwardly on the fringe of a school dance. You shiver at the distasteful memory. “If you ask me, I think that hurt her feelings a little bit.”

“Who cares?” Tavros wonders into his cup.

“Hey, I care! No one likes to be left out of things. You should have seen the look on her face.”

“Ehhh. I won’t lose any sleep over it. You just got here, Egbert, but you’ve probably realized by now that not many people like her very much.”

“Is it because she puts oil slick on people’s porches?”

“Yeah, among other things.” Tavros shakes his head, lip curling bitterly. Out of the corner of your eye, you spot a silver gleam, like a mirror reflecting the last rays of sunlight. You turn and see Vriska Serket, accompanied by her police friends. “Did she tell you about that one time she set fire to library?”

“No.” You quickly step around Tavros, attempting to get out of Vriska’s line of sight before she spots you. “She set the library on fire?”

“Yup. I saw her do it, _everybody_ saw her do it. The whole damn place would have burned down if everyone on the street hadn’t run to get buckets from the river. Terezi says she was trying to save the town, but it’s a load of bullshit. They would have locked her up if Rose hadn’t stopped them. If you ask me, the only reason Rose vouched for Terezi was because she felt bad for her, the lunatic.”

“Yeah, that’s crazy.” You aren’t listening, Vriska has made eye contact and beginning to make her way over to you, lip pulled back in a smile. “That was a good talk, Tavros, but I’m afraid I got to go. Talk to you later.”

Tavros raises his drink in goodbye as you walk quickly back to the heart of the party. Dave and Jade have pulled together a couple of guitars and are playing some weird riff as Dave sings a jumble of words that don’t make very much sense. You’d like to stop and listen, but don’t risk it, at least not when Vriska can still find you.

Miss Pyrope warned you not to be caught by the policewoman without her and if you’re going to ditch your boss for a party, the least you can do is follow her instructions. As you’re edging around a larger group of people, all of which are crowded around something intently (mr. rosewater’s coffin as it turns out), you nearly run head-long into someone.

“Oh shit! I’m sorry.” You gasp, grabbing the person you nearly bowled off their feet and spilling your beer onto the grass.

“It’s quite alright, although I’d recommend watching you’re heading from now on.” It’s Rose, brushing off the sleeves of her dress and looking at you with a shrewd expression. The dark circles under her eyes have grown deeper and there’s a distinct paleness to her skin, worse than any you’ve seen on her before. Her hair is limp, her shoulders are slumped, basically she looks awful. You wonder if she’s getting sick. “What’s the hurry, John? Afraid that we’ll run out of hors d'oeuvres?”

“There are hors d'oeuvres here? What kind of wake is this?”

“The Silverchurch kind.” Rose answers, rolling her eyes. “It’s actually quite good luck that I found you, John. There are important matters that we need to discuss.”

“What kind of matters?”

“The important kind, as I just said.” She takes your wrist and begins guiding you from the crowd. You’re fine with this new arrangement. It’ll give you an excuse to get away from Vriska, also Rose is very pretty and Dave’s words, about how she had been looking forward to speaking to you, come back to mind. You blush horribly. “In here.” Rose commands.

You’ve come to a stop next to the stage, in front of a door that must lead into the house. No one is watching you and Rose as she opens the door confidently and pulls you inside without a moment of hesitation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t know how long this story is going to be actually. I mean, I have everything planned out, it’s that it’s already exceeded my length expectations and it’s not showing any signs of stopping. Hopefully yall don’t mind. Maybe it’ll last through the omegapuse? (however long that will be) I dunno. We’ll see.
> 
> Thanks for reading. Go see Ant-Man. You know, if you want.  
> \- Mike


	6. The Hanged Man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Reveille for commenting.

=> Be John Egbert

You are still John Egbert. Which means that you’re alone, far away from anyone else’s eyes or ears, at a party/wake, with a girl, a very _pretty_ girl. Lord help you. This is like high school all over again, like you’re seventeen years old. Your knees are weak, your palms are sweaty, you can almost taste your father’s homemade spaghetti.

“We shouldn’t be bothered in here.” Rose says, after she’s led you through the doorway and into a very large kitchen.

Jade must be a fan of contemporary architecture. Her countertops are incredibly high, and curved to follow the round shape of the wall. Everything is white too, like you’ve stepped into some strange future dimension where color is nonexistent and everything looks too expensive. You spin in a slow circle, looking at everything and anything.

“Impressed?” Rose tones, eyebrow raised.

“What does Jade do for money?” You ask, manners currently be damned. “All of this stuff looks so… so cool!”

“Her grandfather, before he passed, owned a rather extensive and strange collection of unusual treasures. I believe he found this kitchen overseas and had it broken down, shipped to Silverchurch, and rebuilt piece by piece. He was an amazing man, apparently. I would have loved to have met him.”

“How’d he die?” You imagine an elderly, bespectacled man, with Jade’s eyes and smile, dueling rogues on the deck of a pirate ship, fighting to the last breath, or perhaps wrestling a lion with his bare hands on a wide open plane, with only the cloudless sky and the relentless sun as his witness, or maybe diving on top of a hand grenade and muffling the blast with his own body in order to save the lives of numerous, terrified school children whole would have been hurt otherwise.

“Peanut allergy.” Rose says instead.

“Awww. Are you serious?”

“Yup.” She shakes her head sadly, then recites: “Even the most brilliant lights eventually cease to burn.”

“I suppose.” You guess that she’s quoting something, probably one obscure, high-falutin poem or another. “So er- what did you want to talk about?”

Tearing your eyes away from the all-to-interesting architecture (you were admiring the high ceilings, probably built that way to accommodate for bec’s girth), you look back to Rose and see that in the low light filtering in through the windows, she looks more sickly and feeble than ever. You worry then that something might _actually_ be wrong.

“Rose, are you okay?”

“I’m…” She begins, but stops herself. Her gaze, typically sharp as a knife, flits about the room as she shifts her weight and hugs her arms. “I’m not entirely sure how to proceed here.”

“Just say the first thing that pops into your head!” You advise. “That’s what I do.”

“And I suppose that typically works out wonderfully, does it?” Her lip quirks slightly.

“Well, not all the time, but I think it’s a pretty good place to start. I know we just met pretty recently, Rose, and that this is like the second time we’ve ever talked, but there’s no reason to be nervous! Go ahead. Hit me with whatever’s on your mind. I can take it.”

Rose regards you for a moment, looking at you straight in the eye. At first it’s okay, you’ve got nothing to hide. However, the longer she stares, and the more intensely, the more you start to feel a little uncomfortable. You get the idea that she’s analyzing you, using only her gaze to peel you apart like a banana and poke at the fleshy fruit beneath. Her eyebrow rises slightly again, almost imperceptibly.

“I think you’re right.” She says after a moment. “Perhaps the best move for me would be just to start talking and hope that you’ll be able to keep up along the way. I suppose that my tendency to pre-plan can often be my downfall, so for the sake of variety, I’ll take your advice. I’m just going to start talking.”

“Sounds good to me.” You nod encouragingly, despite being horribly confused.

You can’t imagine for the life of you what she would want to say or why it would take this much hemming and hawing before she actually got started. It can’t be anything good, you decide, so you brace yourself for the worst as she beings to speak:

“You’re not anything special, John, and I don’t mean that in the bad way.” She begins. “You’ve been caught up in a set of extraordinary circumstances, all of which began when you decided to take up the opening as Terezi’s assistant. You’ve no doubt witnessed some weird stuff already and I can’t promise you anything for sure, save for that things can only ever get weirder.”

“Um.”

“I debated with myself, and Dave, quite a bit about whether or not this conversation should take place. He seems to trust you quite a bit, for some reason, and I suppose that the very fact that we’re here talking now proves that I do as well. More than anything else though, the reason that we’re here now is because your employer asked me to take the initiative. She’s rather fond of you, John.”

“O-kay?”

“The truth is.” She pauses for breath. “I haven’t been honest you, at least by way of omission. When we first met I told you that Terezi was a hack and a fraud, the butt end of a long joke that everyone in Silverchurch is tired of telling. To be honest though, I believe that Terezi is one of the most remarkable people there ever was or ever will be. She’s done a great service to me in the past and continues to do so to this day. I owe her my life.”

“Oh, well then that’s good.” You rub the back of your neck. “Why did you tell me to find another job then?”

“Because I- well… I suppose that _now_ is when things get tricky.” Rose taps at her chin and turns from you to pace a few steps towards the counter. “I said that I would take your advice and speak my mind, so I’m going to do that. Right now. Here we go. I’m making this happen.” She stops and faces you again, chin held high. You think that maybe she’s about to start singing. “I am a _seer_.”

“Ah.” You bite the inside of your cheek. “I see.”

“Do you?”

“Of course!” You affirm. She raises an eyebrow. “Okay, no. Not really.”

“Do you know what the term _seer_ means, John?”

“Yeah, that’s like an occultist, right? You’re a future see-er.” You leave off the part about seers not being real. Saying that would just be rude.

Rose smiles.

“Something to that affect, although not as literal as you make it seem. I get _feelings_ and ideas of things that may come to pass and maybe, once in a blue moon if I’m lucky, I’ll have a vision.” She begins pacing again. “I was born a seer and I learned to control my powers just like I learned to walk and speak. My mother kept it a secret, made Dave and I swear not to tell anyone. People found out though, people always find out. After my mother died, Dave and I spent years moving from town to town, looking for a place where I could live my life peaceably, without having to worry about being feared for who I am.”

You can’t tell if Rose is joshin you right now or not. Regardless, you can’t deny that she tells a hell of a story.

“Eventually we came to Silverchurch and it seemed as if it would be the same story, another person discovered my secret and they felt threatened by what they didn’t understand. It seemed that Dave and I would have to pack up and leave our home once again, and we would have to, if Terezi hadn’t stepped in.” Rose’s eyes go distant now as she speaks. “Terezi, with all of her eccentricities and oddities, is one of the few people that I’ve ever met who wasn’t afraid. She saved my life, and helped me secure a place that I could finally call home. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for her.”

“Wow.” You huff. “That’s some heavy shit. But- I mean, back at the library you made it sound like she was some kind of lunatic or whatever. Why did you lie?”

“I’m getting to that part, don’t worry.” Rose waves you off. “Anyways, after that I was in her debt. I agreed to lend a hand to her with my abilities when I could and Dave, under his own volition, took up the job as her assistant, a position which was currently vacant at the time.”

“Whoa! What? Hold on a second.” You shape your hands into a letter _T_ , signaling a time-out. “Dave was Miss Pyrope’s assistant??”’

“Indeed. This was years ago though and he quit after only a few months on the job. So anyways, as I was saying: after that I promised to help Terezi out when I could. On more than one occasion, my mystical intuition has been an invaluable asset to her investigations-“

“Why did he quit?” You ask. “I mean, if anyone could keep up with Miss Pyrope, I’d think Dave would-“

“I belive that particular topic is best heard from the two individuals actually involved.” Rose snaps. “Now where was I? Okay, so every whence and then I help out Terezi, most recently though, things in Silverchurch have been unnaturally quiet. For the past year, there have been hardly any crimes, a few petty supernatural occurrences, but essentially nothing at all for which to use my abilities. Until a few nights ago, that is.” She pauses then and reaches into the pocket of her dress, producing a deck of large cards. “Do you know what these are, John?”

“Tarot cards.” You identify easily.

“Correct. They were originally invented sometime in the fifteen century to be used in card games, although they’ve evolved into a rather well-known method for divination. I don’t use them often, but just like with any other profession, sometimes you have to utilize the tools of the trade to get the job done.” She shuffles the cards quickly in her hands as she speaks, mesmerizing you slightly. “Last Thursday night I had a prediction. Would like to know what it was, John?”

“Sure.” Why the fuck not.

Rose leads you over to the counter and fans the cards out in front of her in a loose semi-circle. With the speed of an accomplished pianist (you would know) she flips over five cards in quick succession, defining them as she goes.

“The upright Hermit, soul-searching and introspection. The reverse Fool, naivety and recklessness. The reverse High Priestess, a hidden agenda. The upright Justice, fairness and truth. And the upright Tower,” Rose finishes, turning from the cards to you. “Disorder, sudden change, _disaster_.”

“How cheery.” You mutter. Rose laughs.

“Happy predictions are hardly as fun or interesting as the bad ones, John.” She grows serious again. “I think these cards predicted your arrival and the unfortunate events that will follow. I thought that perhaps turning you away from Terezi would change what I foresaw. I know better now. Many seers have met their own end trying to change the future. It seems some people, sighted or not, have trouble grappling with fact that the future is, and always has been, set in stone.”

“So…” You take a second to think. “Because I came to Silverchurch, something bad is going to happen?”

“It probably would have happened anyway.” Rose admits with a shrug. She begins collecting her cards again. “I wouldn’t fret about it. These cards I just showed you only pertained to your arrival. If you want my opinion, there are bigger things to worry about.”

“Like what?” You ask.

Having neatly stacked her cards once more, Rose moves to put them back in her pocket, but hesitates. Seemingly at random, she plucks one out of the middle of the deck and passes it to you. Looking at it, it’s a rather silly picture of a man, caught swinging by his legs from a tree or something. You squint at the image, as Rose speaks again.

“I didn’t sleep last night.” She says. “Or the night before that. Along with the occasional vision and card reading, I get… _feelings_. They occupy my mind like an infestation. I think something terrible is going to happen.”

“Worse than what already happened to Mr. Rosewater?”

“Much worse. I fear that his death was only the beginning.” Rose hugs her arms again, and the circles under her eyes seem to grow darker before your very eyes. “That’s what I told Terezi this morning outside the pub and that’s what I’m telling you now. There are evil things afoot in Silverchurch, John, and I’m saying that with a straight face. Promise me that you’ll proceed with caution.”

“You don’t have to worry about me. Miss Pyrope though, well, that’s another story.” You offer her the card back, but she holds up her hand.

“Keep that card.” She says.

“What does it mean?”

“It’s the upright Hanged Man. It reflects the feeling of being stuck or restricted, the need to accept and surrender to your circumstances. It’s about…” Rose thinks for a moment. “Letting go.”

You tuck the card in your breast pocket.

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it. I’ve got more cards like that at home than I know what to do with. I need to get rid of some of that crap.” She rubs at her eyes, probably insanely tired. “I can tell that you need some time to digest everything. I suggest you have a discussion with Terezi next chance you get. In the meantime though,” She attempts a smile. “The night is still young and the party still wages. Let’s go back outside. There’s someone else I want you to meet.”

* * *

The wake is still in full swing when you and Rose return to the garden. Geez, you never thought you’d describe a wake as  _‘swinging’_ before, but what the hell, you’ve been doing a lot of things you wouldn’t have normally considered doing recently.

The good news is that Vriska is nowhere to be seen, although you doubt she’s wandered off for good. Odds are that she’s lurking around somewhere, waiting to catch you unawares. Call yourself paranoid. The bad news is that, during your bizarre talk with Rose, Dave and Jade had brought their show to an end and are now talking with their fellow party goes instead of jamming out on stage. That sucks. You were looking forward to hearing some music!

You find yourself staring at Jade and Dave, as Rose pulls you once more through the garden towards a new, mysterious destination. Perhaps you _are_ growing paranoid. After Rose told you about her gift, you can’t help but wonder what other secrets your new friends might be hiding. Maybe Dave wears shades all the time because he’s a demon and the sun burns his sensitive, undead eyes. Or maybe the reason Jade likes gardening so much is because she’s a witch that brews potent fertilizers in a giant cauldron.

Part of you is curious to find out. Another part is a little miffed as to why everyone in this town seems to be interesting and unique, and why you seem to be the only one here who’s genuinely boring.

“You’re looking a little pale, John. Are you feeling alright?” Rose’s concern makes you blush again. If you keep this up much longer your face is bound to be stained crimson for good. “Perhaps this is all a little too much to process at once.”

“No. I’m alright. I’m just…” You take a deep breath and stop walking. Rose stops as well, looking concerned. “I’m really confused still. About a lot. Everyone says that Miss Pyrope is crazy, _you_ say that Miss Pyrope is crazy, then she’s like this super detective, and then you’re like a mystic, and then tarot cards, and then Miss Pyrope _isn’t_ crazy. I don’t know what to think.”

“Well one thing is for sure, John.” Rose smiles sweetly and pats your hand gently. “Terezi is most _definitely_ crazy.”

“Right. Of course.” You roll your eyes and Rose laughs again.

“Like I said, you’ll going to have to talk to her. As much as I would like to overwhelm you with literal mounds and mounds of information until your head pops like a balloon, I feel that it isn’t necessarily my place. Also denying Terezi that pleasure would be paramount to criminal.” She chuckles again, hiding her mouth behind her hand. “Now come on. I know my girlfriend is around here somewhere.”

“Well, alright.” You follow Rose again. “Wait- what? Your girlfriend?”

Rose either doesn’t hear you or chooses not to answer. She has led you across the party to a lone table, where a singular figure sits perched elegantly on a bench.

“Kanaya!” Rose waves graciously and the woman turns, her lips lifting into a smile and flashing gleaming, silver fangs. “Dear, this is John Egbert. He’s new. John, this is my girlfriend Kanaya. She’s a vampire.”

“Oh… How lovely to meet you.” You manage. Then you faint.

They sky is alight with stars when you come to again. Someone is playing music and singing horribly, not Dave, but Tavros probably if you had to guess. Good for him, getting up in front of a crowd like that and rapping his heart out. That takes guts.

Speaking of guts. You roll onto your side and vomit onto the grass.

“My word!” Cries a feminine voice.

“No. This is good. Just let it out, man. Let it all out.” Says a man. That’s Dave.

A gentle hand rubs slow circles up and down your arm. You’re dimly aware that you’re surrounded by people, none of them distinguishable by sight as of yet since you’re vision is horribly blurry. Someone has taken your glasses. A napkin is pressed into your hand and you use it to wipe your mouth.

“Wh- What happened?” You ask shakily.

“What do you think happened?” Rose’s voice responds. “You took one look at Kanaya and keeled over like you were struck in the back of the head with a brick. I knew this was too much for you in one night. I’m sorry, John.”

“No. No! Don’t be sorry.” You push yourself up into the sitting position and your head swims. You’ve been moved to lie on one of the benches and you gently lower your legs to the ground. “I just lost my footing. It’s not your fault.”

“If you ask me, the beer tastes funny.” You look to your right and see Jade, lounging cross-legged on the table. She leans in close. “Dave says he got it from these brew-masters that came through town a few weeks ago, but if you ask me, that keg has been sitting in his basement for about five years now. Hehe.”

“Salacious accusations.” Opposes Dave.

“Nu-uh!”

“Yup.”

“Liar.”

“Nope.”

They descend into bickering then and you take a moment to locate your glasses, resting carefully on the table next to Jade. As you slip them back onto your nose, the world shifts back into sharpness and you find your gaze immediately drawn to Rose and the woman standing by her side, her girlfriend Kanaya.

“So.” You begin. “I’m just going to jump right in, are you really a vampire or was Rose just fucking with me.”

Kanaya smiles again. Yup those are definitely fangs.

“Rose was, in the purest sense of the phrase, completely fucking with you.” She says. With sure fingers, she reaches up and prods at her sharp teeth with the pads of her fingers. “These are all for show, a little genetic joke, I assure you. They are in no way capable of sucking the blood from another person’s veins like a pair of straws.”

“Oh.” You look to Rose and see her fighting to conceal a smirk. “Fucking hell, Rose. What’s the matter with you?”

“Don’t tell me it wasn’t funny.” She orders, relenting to a small smile.

“Yeah, it _was_ funny. I mean, I appreciate an awesome prank as much as the next guy, maybe a little more, but geez. That’s just bordering on cruel, especially after tonight when…” You trail off, eyes going wide as you quickly look to both Kanaya and Jade.

“They already know all about me and my gift, John.” Rose places an affectionate hand on Kanaya’s arm. “There’s no need to worry.”

“Whew.” You exhale roughly. “Thought my big mouth almost spilled the beans there. Haha. It’s nice to meet you, Kanaya!”

You jump to your feet and instantly stumble a few steps to the side. It’s as if your legs have been unsuspectingly replaced by stacks of jelly. Kanaya reaches out swiftly and grabs your hands, steadying you before you tumble over again.

“Likewise.” She agrees, her bright eyes all aglow.

A vampire she may not be, but there’s definitely something magical about Kanaya. She is… for lack of a better word: absolutely breathtaking. Her hair is sculpted up in some kind of do and her wide hips are clothed in the finest, red silky fabric your sorry eyes ever did see. She looks like an actress in one of those stage shows your dad used to take you to when you were younger (your favorite was the one about the rough-around-the-edges rogue, who deep down had a heart of solid gold).

You can tell why Rose likes her.

In all honesty, you feel like an idiot. And an asshole. Of course a girl as pretty and refined as Rose would already have been snatched up by some lucky soul. You instantly feel guilty for projecting your affections and interpreting Rose’s friendliness as anything more than just that. Besides, it’s not like a guy like you could ever connect in such away with a girl like that. It was stupid to think otherwise.

You realize that Rose is talking.

“Kanaya is a tailor.” She is saying. “She runs the colorful little shop a few doors down from your own business, John.”

“Oh yeah! That place with all the cool-looking trees outside?” You’ve seen the building and it’s fancy potted plants before, but hadn’t thought much of it.

“That’s the one.” Kanaya confirms. “I make all of my own clothes and most of Rose’s. I’d like to start my own line of trendy apparel, but unfortunately most people in Silverchurch don’t care much for the clothes they wear. Most of the work I get is simple…” Her lip curls bitterly. “ _Stitch_ jobs.”

“Well, I need some new clothes.” You divulge. “I could only pack so much stuff and it’s waaay colder here than I thought it was. When winter comes around I’ll probably freeze to death without some new stuff.”

“You should come by the shop then. I could take your measurements and have you some new garments put together in no time at all.” Kanaya’s eyes twinkle. “It’ll cost you, of course. Although,” She looks you up and down, assessing your financial status by your worn trousers and frayed coat. “If money’s an issue I’m sure we could work something out.”

“Sounds great as long as it’s not illegal! Haha.” You laugh and your stomach rolls uncomfortably. You still feel a little ill. “But for now though, I think I better get headed home.”

“Aw! What!?” Jade is suddenly by your side. “But you haven’t even done anything yet! There are so many people you have to meet and, gosh, you haven’t even tried my waldorf salad. Dave is probably going to get back on stage in a second and then we can start dancing. John, you aren’t leaving already!”

You open your mouth, ready to argue, but find that the words die quickly in your throat at a mere glimpse at Jade’s puppy-dog eyes. You’re about to relent, but luckily Rose steps in:

“No. Actually I think he should leave.” She counters, eyeing you critically. “After fainting like that, he needs rest, and time to think about what we discussed this evening. We can catch up and have our fun later.”

“Fuh.” Jade’s shoulder’s sag. “Fine. I’ll hold you to it. Feel better soon, John!”

Jade gives you a quick hug and you dish out quick goodbyes to Rose and Kanaya.

“Want me to walk you home, dude?” Dave asks.

“No. you’ve got work to do.” You give him what you hope is a reassuring smile, but you probably just look pained. “I’ll be fine. I’ll catch you later, alright?”

You shake them off and manage to make it out of the garden, pass the stage and Tavros’s drunken slurs, pass Mayor Peixes and her important-looking cohorts, pass the snobbish Eridan Ampora as he sits alone near the edge of the party, looking for all the world like a man who’s forcing himself to mingle with people below his social class, and finally down the hill and back to the town of Silverchurch.

Then you stumble into the nearest brick wall and slump down to the pavement.

The party was a failure, at least in the terms you had in mind when you first arrived. You’re no closer to solving the murder of Mr. Rosewater, Miss Pyrope is still thoroughly un-invited to any social gathering in the foreseeable future, and you only made one new friend, Kanaya, who no matter how nice a person, doesn’t fill the quota you set for yourself. Also you passed out and threw up.

“Gruhhh.” You scrabble against the wall and stagger to your feet.

There’s a sour taste in your mouth, your bad knee aches as if it’s being crushed in a vice (you’ll have to put a hot water bottle on it when you get home), and Miss Pyrope is probably still in a pissy mood. If you’re being honest with yourself, you probably should have stayed home tonight.

It’s a miracle that you make it back to Windyshade Lane in one piece. You didn’t have that much to drink, only one beer, but it certainly feels like something has put a fog in your head. Maybe Jade was right when she said that Dave pulled that keg out of his basement, long after it had gone bad. Regardless, you stumble up the steps to four-thirteen. Thank god for the bright red door, otherwise you might have gotten into any one of the identical houses up and down the street.

You twist the door knob. It’s locked.

“Oh shit.”

You try again, and again, as if there’s more than one way to twist a handle. You bang on the wood, panic starting to bubble in your chest.

“Miss Pyrope!” You call. “It’s me, John! Can you let me in?!”

You knock a few more times, try the knob again, but it’s all for nothing. No high-pitched, grating voices call to you from the upper windows, no rapid _pattering_ of footsteps come racing from down the hall, and you’re still one hundred percent locked out under the cold, full moon.

“Great.” You grumble. “Now what?”

Like a pouty kid, you sink down onto the front step, stretch your bum knee out in front of you, and rest your chin on the palms of your hands. A headache pounds against your forehead as you curse Miss Pyrope, this whole rotten situation, and most of all: yourself.

This is it, you realize as you close your eyes, you’ve totally been fired. You’ll wake up tomorrow to the sound of your suitcase hitting the ground as it’s tossed down from your office window, along with the rest of your belongings.

Fuck. You’re so tired. Your eyelids feel like they have weights hanging from them. It’s when your head starts to bob, slowly rocking closer and closer towards your chest, when you hear a loud _crash._

Your eyes open with some effort and glance up and down the street. The moon lit cobble stones are completely deserted, save for a stray cat. Your head drifts lazily to the left and you pinpoint the source of the noise: there’s some racket coming from around the side of your- Miss Pyrope’s house.

Against your better judgment, you struggle up from your seated position and waddle down the steps. There’s a narrow alleyway between four-thirteen and four-twelve and you peer down it now. In the darkness, you can just barely make out a shape, moving shiftily and growling like a mysterious beast.

“W-who’s there?” You demand, with a little less gumption in your voice than you would have liked.

The shape moves, coming closer, oozing with all the confidence of a predator who has stumbled upon an unwitting prey, most unlucky. There’s no time to run, you wouldn’t even make it far if you tried. The bottom of your stomach falls away as Vriska Serket herself steps out of the shadows, hands on her hips and lip pulled back in what can only be described as a _‘bitchy’_ smirk. Behind her, a set of trash bins have been overturned, the source of the _crashing_ noise.

“Well, well, well,” She purrs. “What do we have here?”

“I could ask you the same question.” You retort.

“Perhaps, but I wouldn’t have to answer it, would I?” She saunters up to you. “Shouldn’t you be up at the party?”

“I was feeling a little tired, so I left.” You aren’t _technically_ lying to a police officer, but you aren’t really telling to truth either. Miss Pyrope would probably be proud.

“I seeeeeeee. So, why aren’t you inside?” Vriska gestures towards the front door. “I know that if _I_ was tired, I’d want to be all snug up in my bed.”

“I was just about to go inside when I heard you. What are you doing, by the way?”

“Just securing the area. It’s my job to protect and serve everyday citizens like yourself, so here I am, patrolling the streets in the dead of night. No need to thank me.”

You weren’t planning on it, per say, but now that you think about it, a little bit of hospitality might be the way to go in this situation.

“Well, thank you anyways!” You give her your winning Egbert smile. “I bet you’ve got a lot of seedy alleyways to patrol suspiciously tonight, so I’ll let you get on your way. Stay safe out there!”

You try to push her away, pressing your hand gently against the small of her back. However, she’s harder to move than you anticipated, or maybe you just aren’t strong enough to move her. Either way, she doesn’t budge an inch.

“Oh no.” Vriska’s smirk is sharp enough to cut glass. “It would go against my civil duties to leave you out here all on your lonesome, especially when there’s a killer on the loose. Why don’t we step into your house for a jiffy? You and I can have a nice chat.”

“Yeah… about that.” You rub the back of your neck, looking towards the door. “Uh- the truth is, I’m sort of locked out at the moment.”

Vriska glares at you, probably debating whether or not you’re lying. You’ve always been told that you have a very honest face though, and she must see that now, because she suddenly bursts out laughing.

“Hahahahahahahaha! Oh my god. Are you serious?”

“Yeeaah.” You admit.

“Geez, that’s rough. What did you do to piss off the dragon mistress?”

“I actually don’t know, honestly.” You do. You just don’t want to talk about it.

“Well,” Vriska throws her fake arm around your shoulder and you flinch as the cold metal presses against your neck. “That’s no problem really. You can stay with me the night!”

“Oh. No! That’s okay, I can-“

“No, no, no. I can’t have you wandering these streets alone tonight. Come on, Egbert.” She begins half-leading, half-dragging you down the street, grinning sinisterly all the while. “It’ll be like a sleepover! We’ll have lots of fun, don’t you worry.”

You look back at the front door of Miss Pyrope’s home as you stumble along with Vriska. Will she wonder where you are tomorrow morning? Will she even care? Man, you really shouldn’t have gone to that stupid party/wake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man these recent black Johnrezi updates have been freaking hilarious, especially this most recent one, which gave me the boost to power through this most recent chapter. No matter what happens in the endgame, if the Johnrezi was just there for laughs, i’m glad it was there lol 
> 
> Thanks for reading.  
> \- Mike


	7. A Conversation with Vriska

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Reveille for commenting :)

=> Be Vriska Serket

You are suddenly Vriska Serket. You’re a rough-around-the-edges cop with a history as long and deadly as the Oregon trail itself, but deep down, quite a ways down, you’ve got yourself a heart of solid gold, just sitting there and being all righteous and shit.

Normally, at this hour of the night, you’d be curled up on your bed back in Rainbowfalls, reading a worn journal over a cup of herbal tea. However, right now you’re in Silverchurch, dealing with a handful of something else entirely. Namely, a handful of John Egbert, resident assistant detective and your current person of interest.

Man, he sure does squirm around a lot.

“You know, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you didn’t want to hang out with me.” You muse aloud.

John’s still trapped under your arm, stumbling over his own feet and breathing heavily. If he passes out on you, then there’s going to be some trouble.

“No. No, it’s not that.” He huffs. “It’s just that… I _was_ looking forward to sleeping in my own bed tonight.”

“But the boss lady locked you out, huh?” Typical Terezi, pushing away the only people in this world that could possibly care. “What happened? Did you piss her off? Give her the slip so you could go dance around Mr. Rosewater’s coffin?”

“She locks the door when it gets dark.”

“It’s _always_ dark for her, John. If she wanted to let you in, she could have.” You pat him reassuringly on the back, causing him to pitch forward. You catch him with your other arm though and hoist him upright before he hits the ground. Praise your badass reflexes. “You’ll figure that out soon enough.”

Not having permanent residence in Silverchurch, you and the rest of your police force have been given housing at the local inn. It’s not the Ritz, that’s for sure, but it’s keeping you dry and relatively warm. Also your room is in the basement, which means taking John through the lobby and down the rickety, wooden steps is like condemning a prisoner to some sordid dungeon for interrogation. You like the effect it has on him.

“Wh-What’s down there?” He asks, gazing down into the blackness.

“My room, silly. Now watch your step on the stairs. I’d hate for you to bust your head open on the way down. Mwahahaha!” Okay, the laugh was probably a little unnecessary, but you like the way his eyes widen behind his glasses. What's more, you doubt the knowledge that your bedroom awaits instead of a prison cell does much for his anxiety. If anything, it probably makes it worse.

You see him cast a look around the lobby before he descends. It’s a nice place really, all dark wood and dancing fireplace. A lone concierge sits behind a counter, reading a book, but other than that the place is deserted and boring. John won’t be getting any help here.

“I could probably just rent myself a room.” He begins, picking his way down the steps nonetheless. “There’s no need for you to-“

“Oh stop it with that, will you? It’s no trouble at all!” You follow him down, blocking his exit route until you the bottom, then you have to step around him to unlock the door. “I like the company and besides,” You thrust the door open and motion him inside. “There’s _a lot_ we have to talk about.”

It’s a one-room affair, with a bed and set of wooden chairs that are definitely older than you are. John stands awkwardly by the door, watching you like a hawk (or perhaps a less remarkable bird of prey) as you lock the entrance behind you and stride confidently towards the end of the bed.

“Take a seat, make yourself at home, hakuna matata and all that jazz.” You shrug off your coat and make a big show of un-strapping your pistol belt, then draping both of the items over the end of the mattress. “You want something to drink? Water? I could call for some coffee. Maybe a nightcap?”

“I’m fine, thanks.” He hasn’t moved from the door, although his eyes are in constant motion, flying between you, the bed, and then the chairs. You almost feel bad for the poor boy, _almost_. “Um, you know I think I heard someone calling for me upstairs. I’m just gonna-“

Striding over to over to one of the chairs, you pick it up and place it again in the center of the room, slamming it against the concrete floor hard enough to splinter the legs a fraction.

“Sit down.” You command, and he doesn’t have to be told again. Good, he knows who’s in charge. “Now, let’s make some small talk. You know how to hold a conversation, don’t you?”

He nods.

“Awesome!” You perch on the end of the bed, opposite him. “Hmmmm. So, why’d you come to Silverchurch?”

It’s a simple question of course. No need to rip out the big guns yet. Still, he swallows hard, bobbing his adam’s apple violently before answering.

“I wanted a change of scenery.” He says.

“So you just decide to pick up your whole life and come all the way out to this shit town, just like that, no family or friends or job to worry about leaving behind. Just you?” You wait for him to respond, but when he just nods again, you sigh and take a moment to message the bridge of your nose beneath your glasses. “A conversation typically takes two people, you know, actually _talking_ to work. Come on, John. Relax! It’s not like you’re under arrest or anything. Haha!”

“Heh.” He tries to chuckle, but you can tell his mouth is too dry. Something is holding him back, something other than just the standard apprehension. Terezi must have warned him about you, damn that psycho.

“How’d you land a job with Terezi?” You ask, trying to stay light.

“She had an advertisement listed on the message board. It just said that she was looking for an assistant. I didn’t know what she did or anything.”

“But you followed the lead anyways because you needed a job.” You conclude, nodding with understanding. “You must have been pretty surprised to see what kind of business she was running, huh? Haha.”

“Yeah.” For the first time, a genuine smile tugs at his face. “Miss Pyrope sure is something else.”

“Why do you call her that?”

“Call her what?”

“ _Miss Pyrope_.” You repeat. “She’s not the president, John. Her name is Terezi. Did she tell you to call her that?”

“No. I just-“ He fumbles, blushing horribly. “That’s just her name!”

“Maybe if you were five years old you would call her that. You’re a grown ass man, John! You can call her whatever you like.” You cross your legs at the knee, bobbing your foot in the air like your conducting an orchestra. “Anyways, what’s it like working for her? Seen anything cool yet?”

“Eh.” He shrugs with forced nonchalance. “Not really.”

“No- uh fairies or mummies or draculas?” You press. “How about a ghoul? Have you seen a ghoul yet?”

John’s eyebrows knit together and the temperature of his glare suddenly drops a few degrees.

“If you’re going to make fun of her, you can just save it. I’ve heard it all before.” He states firmly.

You give him a long, hard look. He believes her, you realize, he believes all that supernatural gobbledy gook. Terezi will have him running through the fields with a butterfly net, trying to catch imps before the week is through, no doubt about it.

“I’m not making fun of her.” You argue, waving your hand as if you can physically bat away the accusation. “I’m just really curious, what could she have possibly said to get you over on _that_ side of the hedge? Did she show you something? Did one of her _friends_ chat you up?”

He turns away, folding his arms, and you know that you’ve got him. You’ve been dealing with Terezi long enough to know how she operates. She’s obsessed with this mystical shit, always looking to explain away the explainable with some inexplicable bullshit. Someone else in this backwards town must have vouched for her, several someone’s possibly. It’s funny how that works, peer pressure really can do so much damage.

You think you’ve danced around the bush long enough.

“I don’t want to talk about Miss Pyrope or my job, which may or may not still be a thing in the morning.” He proclaims, doing a very good impression of a stubborn child. You kind of want to hit him.

“Oh, but you see, I really, _really_ want to talk about Terezi and your job.” You lean forward off the bed, closing the distance between the two of you. “In fact, I want to talk about it soooooooo much, that little brain of yours would probably collapse in on itself if it knew just a fraction of the intensity for which I wanted to talk about this particular topic.”

“What?”

“I have witnesses,” You continue “ _Lots_ of witnesses, who place you and Terezi at the scene of Mr. Rosewater’s murder this morning. Apparently you and her tried to gain entrance to the building, but then disappeared when Feferi wouldn’t let you in. I know you want me to think that Terezi went back to her little hobbit hole, tail swung between her legs in defeat, but I know better.”

“Oh yeah?” John questions. He seems a lot less sure of himself again.

“Oh yeah. I know for a fact that she broke into the pub and did some of that cute little detective work she loves to boast. I know that she found something. I know that she thinks she’s hot on the case. And I know that she had a large, mysterious package delivered to the post office this past Sunday!”

John rolls his eyes.

“Oh great. You’re going through our mail now too?”

“No. I just so happened to stumble upon that little fact in passing, if you must know.” That’s a lie. One of the first things you’d done upon arriving in Silverchurch was question the Parcel Mistress about any strange mail that Terezi might have been receiving. It was a tough exchange, as the Parcel Mistress is an incredibly hard woman to read. You’d gotten the information eventually though, and had been rummaging through Terezi’s trash bins, looking for an invoice, when John had found you earlier. “What’s in the package, John? What did you find at the pub?”

“I don’t know what was in the package.” He asserts. “Miss Pyrope wouldn’t let me look. Also we didn’t take a single thing from the crime scene because we never got inside. Duhh.”

“Ugh. Listen, you idiot.” You gnash your teeth in frustration. “You think you’re being all high and mighty defending your boss’s honor, but you really shouldn’t be making the effort. She _would not_ do the same thing for you, trust me on that.”

“Of course that’s what you think.” He snaps. “You hate her.”

“Ha!” You laugh. “I don’t _hate_ , Terezi. Are you kidding me?” His defiant stare swiftly shifts to confusion. You sigh with exasperation. “Fuck, Egbert. Has Terezi told you _anything_?”

“Yeah. She’s told me lots of stuff!”

“Really? Did she tell you anything about herself? About where she comes from or why she’s here? Did she tell you about _me_? Or about anything else from her past that might concern you? Did she tell you about Tavros?” You smirk as his already shoddy confidence falters. “Did she tell you about _Karkat_?”

His throat pulsates slightly as his pulse increases. You can already tell that he has no idea what the fuck you’re talking about and, to be wholly truthful, it makes you pity him a bit. What a life it must be, to just blindly follow someone simply because you assume that they know what they’re doing. Ignorance really is bliss. You’re dislike for Terezi’s behavior only grows.

“Terezi and I used to be… partners.” You explain. Yeah, ‘ _partners_ ‘is about a good a word you’re going to get. “We went to school together, studied the justice system together, basically clung to each other by the hip twenty-four seven. We were an unstoppable crime-solving team, the _Scourge Sisters_ , they called us. With her knowledge and my skills we were on the fast track to wipe out all crime on the entire god-damn planet, and we would have too, if she wasn’t such an asshole.”

“What happened?” He asks. You’ve got him hooked now.

“What do you think happened? She took a handful of crazy pills and downed it with a bottle of nut-job juice. We’ve had our disagreements in the past, but nothing like that. It was like a switch had been flicked. One minute we were on top of the world, doing our part to save it, then next minute she’s packing her bags and heading out east looking for unicorns and shit.” You shake your head bitterly. “She just wanted the attention, if you ask me, and she got it too. All anyone could talk about back in Alternia for _years_ was how she left me high and dry.”

“Geez.”

“Tell me about it.” You brush a stray lock of hair over your shoulder. “So yeah, I guess you and I have a little in common, John. We’re both… Er-“ You gesture from your prosthetic arm down to his leg, and he shifts uncomfortably in his chair. You continue. “We’re both people who’ve had to make do with the cards we’ve been dealt.”

“I dunno…”

“We’re both people that just shoved what we had into a suitcase and got the fuck out of dodge. I just so happened to end up a few miles south in Rainbowfalls.”

“Maybe…”

“No maybe about it. We’ve both been burned by Terezi, pupa. She hires you on as her assistant, doesn’t tell you jack, locks you out in the cold. What kind of person does that?” It’s time for the ball to drop. “Bottom line is, there’s no reason for you to hide her secrets for her. She doesn’t trust you; she probably doesn’t even like you. If you’re smart, and I can tell that you are, you’ll tell me what you know and just… get her out of your life.” After a moment, you add: “Before it’s too late.”

John’s eyes have fallen southwards to rest somewhere between the two of you on the dull, concrete floor. It doesn’t take a genius to see the large, obvious, singular cog in that big ol’ head of his turning slowly like a carrousel. You can tell that some part of what you’ve said has cut him, deep too. It’s evident enough on his face that anyone, possessing an iota of empathy, would probably feel a little bad.

You smush down that feeling though. No matter how much personal information you divulge, it’s only you and John down here. He won’t tell anyone, partially out of respect and partially out of fear.

And besides, it’s all just business in the end.

You wait for John to respond with something, anything that you can work with. His mouth opens once, then closes, then opens again. He looks a little bit like a fish gasping for air. You fight to stay patient and, quite unexpectedly, it’s your patience that leads to your downfall. You wait just a little too long.

There’s a knock at the door.

“Fuh. Hold that thought.” You jump to your feet and skip towards the door, unfastening the lock quickly before opening it a tiny sliver. You hiss at the intruder. “What is it? I’m a little busy at the moment.”

It’s one of your lieutenants, the youngest of the bunch. He’s a little dense and very squirrelly, but you’ve always been one to give the underdog a fair shake. You notice immediately that his eyes are blown wide with fear and that sweat is pouring off of him in sheets. He’d obviously just ran all the way here, from wherever it is he came from.

“Th- there-“ He wheezes miserably, trying to get the words out.

“What?” You demand. “What is it?”

He pauses, sucks in a greedy, bottomless breath, and gasps:

“A body.” The timber of his voice, or lack thereof, fluctuates as he stammers. “By the lake. W- We found a- a corpse!”

It takes a second for you to understand.

“Shit.” You glance over your shoulder at John. He’s watching your back with a slack jaw, hands awkwardly resting on his knees. There’s no way he didn’t hear that. You whip back to your lieutenant. “Give me thirty seconds. I’ll meet you up on the street.” Then you slam the door in his face.

“What’s going on?” John asks, like he doesn’t know. You can feel his eyes on you as you rush to the bed and being pulling on your gear. “Is someone in trouble? Should I… leave or something?”

The guy sounds pretty hopeful, the little sap. You whirl on him and quickly consider your options: telling him to stay here seems like the smart thing to do, but what are the odds him actually doing what he’s told? Well, judging by the goober-ish expression on his face, there’s actually a really good chance.

If he decides to bolt for it while you’re gone, then there isn’t much you can do about that than besides just tracking him down later. In the eyes of the law, he’s under no obligation to stay here with you and it’s only through his own cluelessness that he’s stayed here this long at all.

Whatever you decide, there’s no chance in hell that you’re bringing him along with you. As much fun as it would be to watch him squirm at the sight of a cadaver, you can’t risk the chance that he’ll scamper back to Terezi with the details of _another_ murder. That despicable detective has already beaten you to one crime scene.

“I probably won’t be back tonight.” You tell him honestly, taking a moment to tie your hair up out of your face. “So you’re welcome to stay if you want. Just don’t touch anything.”

And with a quick wave and a wink, you charge out of the room and up the stairs, making for the street as quickly as possible.

* * *

=> Be John Egbert

You are once again John Egbert. Which means you are getting the fuck out of here.

It takes all of your willpower not to leap out of the chair as soon as Vriska disappears up the stairs. The fabric of your pants wrinkle stressfully as you grip it tightly between your fingers and listen intently as her footsteps quickly fade away and vanish. You wait, holding your breath, just in case she decides to return and… you dunno- beats you with a stick or something.

She doesn’t.

You rise with an uncharacteristic amount of serenity and make your way from the room and up the stairs as well. Spending the night in Vriska’s room, with or without her, sounds like one of your least favorite things amongst the infinitely long list of things you’d be inclined to do. God what is wrong with you tonight?

Wait a minute. ‘ _What’s wrong with you?’_

Nothing is wrong with you, besides the obvious, of course.

It’s everyone else in this damn town that’s fucking crazy.

The concierge is leaning back in his chair, half asleep with his cap over his eyes, when you come up into the lobby. You give him a respectful wave nonetheless as you exit the building, just in case he’s faking it. The street outside is deserted, luckily. Whatever it is that Vriska has to attend to must be been pretty damn urgent for her to have raced off like this. You think you may have heard something about a body, being whispered through the crack in her door.

Has there been another murder?

Part of you is curious, but the other part (the currently much more dominate part) is just so fucking done right now. You shove your hands into your pockets and start off down the street, a vague destination in mind, overshadowed by the myriad of other information flying around the inside of your skull like a horde of angry bees. You have to get your thoughts in order, which sounds much simpler than it actually is. Right now is one of those confusing times where you just have to take a deep breath, find your center, and ask yourself: _‘where do I even start?’_

You decide to start with that awful party/wake and all of your friends who were in attendance.

So, Rose is apparently some sort of magical future see-er, waving her mystical hands around, throwing out tarot cards like flap jacks and hanging out with her fashion-minded girlfriend, who says she isn’t a vampire, but really it wouldn’t surprise you if she was, not after tonight.

Miss Pyrope and Rose are also in cahoots, consulting with each other on paranormal phenomena and the like when the need arises. O-kay, but why all the secrecy then? Why wouldn’t Rose just flat out tell you earlier, like the first time you met? Or hell, why wouldn’t Miss Pyrope tell you that?

Privacy, you suppose. Rose likes her privacy.

The moon is still full tonight, which is actually pretty nice. You have little trouble seeing the path ahead. The wind chill is another beast entirely though and you struggle to button your coat with numb fingers while you walk.

Dave was Miss Pyrope’s assistant at one point. He quit though, after only a few months. Why? Sure the job demands that you be put in some strange situations, but it hasn’t been too dreadful yet. Did he have a disagreement with Miss Pyrope? Did something terrible happen? Maybe you’re looking a little too into this one. Dave probably just wanted to devote more time to his beat-dropping service or whatever it is he does.

Perhaps it has something to do with the assistant who died. Did Dave come in the picture before or after that happened? And what does Vriska know about it? She certainly seemed to enjoy dangling coveted information over your head like that. Why did she bring up Tavros? Did Miss Pyrope do something to him besides what you’ve already been told? Also, who the hell is Karkat?

Probably just some stupid thing Vriska made up to fuck with you.

You sort of want to hit something.

The path your following ends on a street corner, just as familiar and unassuming as the dozen other corners you’ve passed during your walk. A faded sign swings pathetically on the chilly breeze and you crane your neck up to read it.

 _“Dave E. Strider: Rhyme Master Extraordinaire”_ It says, accompanied by a horrible artist’s rendition of the man himself, all crooked smirk and nonchalance intact, but with paint smudged by the rain, giving him the appearance of an unfortunate burn victim.

You knock thrice on the door and wait patiently, stamping your feet lightly on the sidewalk to bring feeling back into your legs. You’ll have to hit up Kanaya’s shop before it gets any colder. The temperature seems to be dropping just about as swiftly as your mood.

Dave appears at the door a few seconds later and you breathe a sigh of relief. His hair is incredibly messy, contrasting harshly with the crispness of his bedclothes. Even at this hour, those damned sunglasses are still perched on the edge of his nose. You wonder if he sleeps in them.

“Egbert?” His face remains skillfully impassive. “What are you doing here, man? The party ended like an hour ago. Unless... oh shit. After party at my place?”

“Uh… No, actually. There was a thing.” You motion vaguely in the direction you came from. “I, er- Can I stay here tonight?”

Dave seems taken aback, but nevertheless, he gives you a quick appraisal, then steps aside and waves you into his shop without another word. The inside is completely dark, save for a small candle on the counter which gives off just enough light to illuminate the rough shape of the room. Besides the counter, there isn’t much to the place, just a few shelves and some plushy-looking chairs. Dave locks the door behind you, retrieves the candle, and then leads the way between a set of shelves to an inky black rectangle set into the wall.

“Hold up a sec.” He says, once you’ve stepped through the second doorway. The candle bobs away from you and you hear several _clacks_ as wooden logs are stacked together, then the striking of a match causes light and warmth to blossom in a hearth across the room. “So yeah, this is where the magic happens.”

“And by magic, you mean whatever the opposite of cleaning is?” You inspect the items in the room and the layers of dust piled on top of them. Dave was right, he must not get a lot of business.

There are assorted musical instruments, large wooden crates overflowing with loose straw, and odd shapes covered with white sheets in almost every corner, giving no clue whatsoever to their identity. You guess they’re either one type of musical equipment or another.

“You know, I still don’t know exactly what it is that you do.” You admit.

“Of course not. You were too busy chatting it up with Rose to hear any of my music tonight.” Dave busies himself with pushing a large box violently into a corner, causing packing straw to spew everywhere. He doesn’t seem to care though, in fact, the majority of the floor is covered with the stuffing. “So she told you her big, magical secret, huh? Not quite as exciting as she makes it out to be honestly.”

“Hmmm.” You really aren’t in the mood to talk about it.

After getting the crate out of the way, Dave sweeps an egg crate full of miscellaneous nails and screws to the side with his foot, effectively creating a open space on the floor. He runs a hand through his hair as he inspects the spot.

“I’ll grab some cushions for you from my room,” He nods towards the ceiling, where his bedroom must apparently be placed upstairs. “You can make a little nest here in my storage room, like a pigeon or some shit, except with pillows instead of twigs. Is that cool?”

“Yeah that’s cool.” You’re too tired to care at the moment. “Thanks, Dave. I really appreciate this. I’ll make it up to you as soon as I can.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Dave says as he sweeps from the room. “What else are friends for?”

“Yeah… Friends.”

The floor is uncomfortable and the pillows that Dave brings don’t do much of anything to help. Your leg is throbbing as if you’ve got a second heart stuffed down your pants leg and you groan in pleasure as you unbuckle the knee brace then fall backwards onto your nest to stare up at the ceiling.

All in all, you think this day could have gone better.

When it had started, you had been excited, just so very excited to start your new life in Silverchurch. Things had been weird, of course, always weird. However, in comparison to your situation now, things had been a whole lot simpler. It was just you and Miss Pyrope, doing your detective thing and running all over town. You may have had some misgivings, but you honestly felt that you could trust the people you knew, and that maybe they could trust you back.

Now though, hell, you’re kinda of pissed at everyone.

Not a single person in this town has given you the clear picture on anything, only dishing out tidbits of information at a time, each more confusing than the last, and each simply raising more and more questions.

Rose, Dave, Jade, Tavros, Vriska, all of them have some sort of history. It’s like you’ve joined a book club when the rest of the group is halfway through the novel and now you’ve got to struggle to catch up before the next meeting. Regardless, no matter what new information or revelation you’re faced with, it all ties back to one person, your boss, Miss Pyrope.

Dave lets out a thunderous snore from his room, somewhere above you, and you roll onto your side to bury your head in one of the cushions. He was Miss Pyrope’s assistant once and he didn’t tell you. You’d think that’s something people would share with one another, especially friends. Like _‘Hey, you know that crazy lady, Terezi Pyrope, that’s like some big mystery or whatever. Yeah? Well, get this. I used to work for her. Oh yeah, you bet. Now here’s what you’ve got to look out for- blah blah blah and so on and so forth”_.

But no. It’s none of your business.

A stray piece of straw tickles your nose and you bat it away across the room. Tomorrow morning, you decide fitfully, you’re getting some answers.

* * *

The next morning, you get a grand total of zero answers.

Instead you’re woken by the piercing sound of someone screaming:

“Murder!” Cries a voice. “Murder in Silverchurch!”

The words filter in through your sleepy haze and ricochet off the inside of your skull, repeating themselves like a mantra until you slowly begin to articulate meaning from them. Of course, another person was killed last night. You remember that vaguely from your encounter with Vriska.

She had needed to run off and investigate, leaving you alone in her bedroom, forcing you to wander the streets until you could find shelter at Dave’s shop. Now you’re here, spine painfully stiff, and everywhere else itchy from being scratched by the hay strewn higgledy-piggledy across the floor.

Another person is dead. You’ll deal with that later.

Moaning quietly to yourself, your roll onto your side and throw your arm over the woman lying next to you. This person is incredibly petite and bony, but wonderfully warm in your embrace. You press your nose into their hair, breathing in the fresh scent of sweat and something else, something earthy and soothing, like coffee grounds mixed with fresh soil.

“Enjoying yourself, Egbert? Hehehe.” Snickers your bed partner.

“GAAHH!” In a flash, you’re scrambling away to the opposite side of the room, fumbling to cover yourself with something, anything you can get your hands on. You manage to snag a cushion and press it to your chest. “What the hell are _you_ doing here?!?”

Miss Pyrope is lounging lazily on the floor, crooking her head towards you in amusement and with a shit-eating grin plastered over her face. You’re simultaneously horrified by the circumstances and also… incredibly relieved.

“Dave let me in like thirty minutes ago. You’re quite the heavy sleeper, you know that?” She stretches luxuriously, like a cat that’s found a nice spot in the sun to relax. Her cane lies by her side, just in reach, and you notice that she’s fully dressed in her working attire.

“W- Why were you in my bed?!” You demand, stooping quickly to grab your trousers from where you’d discarded them. Her smile grows wider as your belt buckle _clinks_ loudly.

“I was planning on freaking you out.”

“Mission accomplished then.”

“It was funny up until you turned out to be the cuddly type, figures.” One of your cushions gets flicked disdainfully. “And this is your bed? Wow. You really have to raise your standards, Egbert. This is the type of accommodations you’d set up for a new puppy you don’t want pissing on anything you care about.”

 “Well it’s all I could really manage seeing as you locked me out!” Now that you’re mostly decent, you feel a whole day’s worth of frustration beginning to bubble over the edge. “I’m really angry at you, Miss Pyrope.”

“Yeah, well, join the club.” She cracks her neck and climbs to her feet, snatching her cane up along the way. “If you want to file a complaint, you can fill out a form back at my office. Right now though, there’s no time for such horse play.” Miss Pyrope points towards the door. “That crier has been making rounds throughout the entire town. Did you hear what he said? Do you know what this means?”

“I’m going to guess that it means exactly what he said, someone else has died, right?”

“Precisely!” Miss Pyrope jabs her finger into the air. “But also, not really. Comb your hair and brush your teeth, John! _We’ve_ got work to do.”

She brushes past you then and disappears into the front of Dave’s shop, leaving you to finish getting ready. Moving with incredible speed, you do just that, swiftly buttoning up your shirt and buckling on your knee brace, the irritated grumbles from your mouth contradicting the small smile on your face. Huh, maybe you aren’t fired after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That Scourge Sisters Upd8 broke my heart and put it back together again, easily one of my favorite flashes. Just the art, and the do you remem8er me, and the ugh everything was great lol I seriously love those two.
> 
> Anyways, listen to Good Graeff and read uforin‘s [theory post about  _Silverchuch_](http://uforin.tumblr.com/post/125153429455/so-ive-been-reading-and-thinking-a-little-about) that will make the true ending to this story look like shit. I love stuff like that :3 shout out to anyone who wastes precious time thinking about crap i’ve thrown onto a word document. You are beautiful.
> 
> Thanks for reading.  
> \- Mike


	8. Murder in Silverchurch, Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to milkandhoney for commenting.

=> Be John Egbert

You are still John Egbert. Which means that excitement, turned to confusion, turned to frustration, then turned to flat-out anger, hasn’t reached the point of no return, quite the opposite. In fact, as you join Miss Pyrope outside of Dave’s shop, you feel that familiar bubble of excitement beginning to swell in your chest once more!

Your worries of the previous night almost seem like less of a pressing concern in the light of day, with your boss’s grinding laughter bouncing off the buildings all along the street. Well, ‘ _almost’_ is a pretty generous word. Your issues are still issues and you are sure as hell going to have them dealt with today, right now, before you take one step further.

“Move that ass, John. Our corpse is growing cold and I’m growing old!” Miss Pyrope cackles. She’s standing on the sidewalk with Dave, looking in your direction as you waver on the threshold of the shop. You hold a retort on the tip of your tongue, poised, like an Olympic diver high above a swimming pool. Do you really want to dive into that pit of sass right off the bat? Seriously, you were pretty sure you were fired like six hours ago. The decision of whether or not to give her a piece of your mind is taken out of your hands when she speaks again anyways: “Well?? You expect me to walk there by myself?”

An image of Miss Pyrope unwittingly tumbling into an open manhole comes to mind and you stifle a chuckle as you join her side.

“Something funny?” She asks dryly.

“Just your haircut.” You respond.

“Oh _daaaaaaammmmmn_.” Gasps Dave, hand coming up to cover his mouth. “Did _that_ really just happen?”

“Oh har har. Go ahead and make fun of the blind girl who cuts her own hair.” Miss Pyrope seizes your arm with one hand and pats at her uneven fringe with the other. “You spend one night out on the town and you’re already acting like a disrespectful hooligan. You should feel ashamed of yourself, John. I hope whatever conscious you posses tears you apart from the inside like a disease.”

“You cut your own hair?” You ask, admiring her rough collection of brittle locks.

“Yes, but that’s so far from the point right now, it’s helping Dave recover from his serious and life-threatening brush with tone deafness.” Miss Pyrope grins toothily. “How was the show last night, cool kid?”

“Best one yet.” Dave answers smugly. “Maybe if you’re good, you’ll be invited to the next one.”

“Don’t bet on it, asshat.” She tugs sharply on your arm, informing you none to gently that you’re about to depart very soon. “You wanna come down to the lake with us? If I had to guess, everyone else will already be there, gawking and feebly sucking in air through their gaping mouths.”

“If I didn’t know any better, Tz, I’d guess that you didn’t think too fondly of your fellow Silverchurch-ians.”

“I don’t when they’re milling around a crime scene and potentially destroying evidence. Are you coming or not?”

“Naw.” Dave waves coolly. “I’ll pass on this one. I’ve got a shop to run and a hangover to sleep off. You have fun though.”

“See ya, Dave!” You call, as Miss Pyrope tugs on you once more. “Thanks again for last night!”

Dave waves again and you set your focus on your current job, namely getting you and your boss across town in one piece, which isn’t really all that hard of a job to be perfectly honest. Miss Pyrope does a lot of the directing, you just have to make sure there’s nothing unexpected in your path. It’s a familiar working rhythm that you fall into quickly, comfortably. It’s the scarce opportunities such as these in these recent days where you’ve felt like more of an _equal_ to Miss Pyrope than just simply her subordinate.

It feels good to be used.

“So, uh-“ You carefully consider how to broach some of the issues on your mind. “Listen, Miss Pyrope, there’s some things that I really want to talk to you about.”

“Mmmmhhh?” She hums contentedly.

“Yes, like… For one, Rose told me about all about her- Mumph!” You’re silenced abruptly as Miss Pyrope presses a swift finger to your lips. She doesn’t break stride.

“Not in the light of day, John.” She chides. “We’ll talk about _that_ later.”

“Oh, okay.” You feel heat blossom in your cheeks, whether from embarrassment at almost spilling Rose’s beans within earshot of pretty much anyone or from the rough pad of Miss Pyrope’s finger against your lips, you can’t exactly tell. You try not to think about it. “Sorry, er- anyways, there’s _that_ , but also I want to say that I’m sorry about last night. I shouldn’t have gone to Mr. Rosewater’s wake without you. It was rude to leave you out.”

“I told you I didn’t care.” She states plainly, forcing nonchalance like a square peg through a round hole. “I had a great time to myself without you. You forget after a while how nice it is to be alone with just you and your thoughts, no helpless goober stomping around and breaking stuff.”

“I do _not_ stomp around.” You defend. “And it’s not my fault you leave crap all over the place for just anyone to step on.”

“Everything in my home is in it’s proper place.” Miss Pyrope reaffirms. “You’ll figure out the system eventually. In the meantime though, I’d recommend working on you attentiveness.” As she speaks, she steps over a puddle in the sidewalk, one that soaks the hem of your trousers when you stumble through it. “Watch your step there, fumbles. Hehe.”

“Heh.” You shake water from your shoes. “So, I guess I’m not being evicted?”

“No, of course not. Why on earth would you think that?”

“You locked me out last night!”

“Ahhh. Now- you see…” For the first time since you met her, Miss Pyrope looks a little abashed. She scrubs at her nose with her free hand. “Yeah, that was a bit of a dick move on my part. Sorry about that.”

It takes a moment for you to process what she’s just said. Frankly, you’re more than a little stunned by this turn of events. You’d pretty much expected Miss Pyrope to simply laugh in your face and tell you, for the umpteenth time, that she locks the door after dark, which in essence means that she can lock the door whenever the fuck she wants, because she’s blind as shit. Instead, here she is, looking genuinely sorry.

Perhaps this is confirmation that she _did_ lock you out on purpose as some childish form of payback for ditching her. You make a mental note not to get on her bad side if you can avoid it; your father warned you about how dangerous an immature person can be.

“I forgive you.” You tell her honestly.

“Mhmmm.” She responds, pointedly looking towards the sky and sunning her nose.

You change the topic.

“You know, now that I think about it, crashing at Dave’s place wasn’t really all that bad. He actually has a pretty nice shop. He could use a guest room, but that’s just whatever. Vriska’s place though, geez, now _that_ was a nightmare.”

“WHAT?!!?”

The abruptness and volume of Miss Pyrope’s scream doesn’t just stop your forward momentum, but changes it’s direction a complete ninety degrees upwards, causing you to leap into the air with freight. She wheels on you, head cocking so hard to the left with intrigue that you’re afraid her neck might snap.

“Wh- what?!” You don’t like the looks she’s giving you.

“You stayed with Vriska! Didn’t you?!” She demands, leaning in close. “Of course you did, you just said it! And I can smell her conniving stench all over you. Blech!” Her small fist impacts against your sternum, pushing you back half a step. “What did she want, eh? What did you tell her? I bet you were singing like a canary, weren’t you?!”

“I didn’t say anything!” You shoot back, annoyance rising again in your chest like steam. “I kept my mouth shut just like you told me too. _She_ was the one doing all the talking. In fact,” You jab her in the chest in return. “I’ve got more than enough questions of my own to ask _you_.”

“Questions that Vriska no doubt brought to you attention, hmmmm?”

“Yeah!”

“Well then they’re hardly your questions at all then, are they?”

“What? No! I mean, _yes_. Wait- fuck!”  You rub your temples. “Stop confusing me.”

“They’re Vriska’s questions, wrapped up like presents, and funneled through you straight to me.” Miss Pyrope’s mouth twists and curves bizarrely as she strokes her chin, no doubt bemoaning the absence of a glorious beard to caress whilst thinking. “Damn that foxy policewoman, she’s grown smarter since our last encounter. We’ll have to work overtime to stay one step ahead of her and also to keep you out of her clutches. It’s imperative, John, that you not be caught unawares by her again.”

“Oh like that was my fault!” You throw your hands in the air. “I wouldn’t have been basically kidnapped by her if you hadn’t locked me out! And don’t change the subject on me, you little minx.” You’ve never scolded someone before, but you’re sure as hell going to try it now. “Whether or not Vriska’s using me, I really think that I deserve to know some things.”

Miss Pyrope folds her arms smartly, all traces of shock and anger replaced smoothly by subtle exasperation. It was so quick, as if a magician had waved their wand and suddenly turned you into an idiot. Her mouth quirks again.

“Forgive me, John,” She begins. “For not showering you with roses and rice for all the magnificent work you’ve done so far, all of that standing around and taking up space must really put a toll on you.”

“Now that’s just rude.”

“Yes, but if you put rude out, then you’re going to get rude back.” Miss Pyrope is a much better at scolding than you are. “Vriska’s got it in your head that you’re somehow being mistreated by being left in the dark, but honestly, you’ve only been in my employ for a matter of _days_. Do you really expect to have been briefed in this short time on every little thing about me and my long, dark, and undoubtedly awesome past?”

“No, but-“

“But what?” She interjects, hands rising along with her shoulders, questioning. You don’t have an answer. After a moment Miss Pyrope sighs and reaches for you, hands fumbling against your chest and neck, before finding your lapels and gripping them tightly. She shakes you slightly as she continues. “You may not be smart, John, or strong or fast or clever or a lot of other things that I’d like to list but would take far too long, but you are one thing, okay?”

“What’s that?”

“You’re… You’re, er- You’re _tenacious_.” She decides after a moment of deliberation. “And that’s a good thing. I’ve broken stronger people than you in less time and the fact that you’re standing here with me right now means a lot. So yeah, basically hold your damn horses, because remember what I told you about trusting me?”

“Yeah.”

“What about it?”

“That I should trust you and everything would be okay.”

“Precisely.” She rocks you firmly one last time, then releases you, stepping back to straighten her own coat. “I’ll tell you all that you need to know eventually, when it’s relevant, but not everything can be heard from me. Some stuff, like Rose’s predicament, isn’t really my story to tell. Capiche?”

“Capiche, I guess.”

“Good. Now are you done throwing a hissy?” She asks. You nod in affirmation, feeling incredibly dull all of the sudden. “Perfect. Now that all of our jets have been cooled, I think we have a crime scene waiting for us by the lake. Let’s go.”

The pair of you start off again, a mildly awkward silence hanging between you like the strands of a wispy cobweb. A part of you wants to apologize to her for… something. Being too presumptuous perhaps? You dunno. You suppose that there’s now some level of understanding between you and Miss Pyrope without that, hopefully.

You decide to break the silence.

“So, what did you do last night?”

“I started working some of our evidence, but I didn’t get much work done. Some of my new equipment is being a pain in the ass.” She grimaces, but continues. You feel some of the tension you’d been feeling ease up slightly. “I ended up taking a long bath and going to bed early. I couldn’t sleep though.”

“Worried about your dear old assistant, eh? Haha.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Egbert.” She chides, but smiles nonetheless. “What about you? Bring me up to speed on the happenings of John Egderp’s incredibly swinging night life.”

“Oh man, where do I even start!?” You wonder.

“The beginning sounds good to me.”

You dive in headfirst into the long, winding tale of your adventures the previous night. You begin with the wake of Mr. Rosewater and your conversation with Rose, including your brief interaction with Jade and Kanaya (you leave out the part about you fainting, the less ammunition Miss Pyrope has, the better). She listens intently for the most part, nodding along as you describe the party’s events and even asking a few questions along the way.

“Was Jade behaving strangely at all?”

“Nope, in fact, she seemed about as happy as she could be!”

“Interesting…”

You jump forward a bit to your return to four-thirteen, only to find it locked. Miss Pyrope’s lip curls sourly when you tell her how you found Vriska snooping around in the alley, and she mutters darkly under her breath, curses that your father would probably have made you wash out with soap had he heard you utter yourself. She goes quiet as you describe your time down in Vriska’s room, all of the questions she asked, they story she told, and eventually her sudden exit in response to the new murder. You conclude with you arriving at Dave’s doorstep, and not a moment too soon either.

You and Miss Pyrope climb the hill to Jade’s house, cut through the fantastical garden, weave between the clump of trees, and finally arrive on the edge of the lake.

“So yeah,” You finish. “That’s pretty much it.”

“Interesting.” Miss Pyrope comments, although now you’re unsure if she’s addressing your tale or the scene directly ahead of you.

The lake behind Jade’s house is huge, stretching away for what seems like miles to a forest on the far bank, shrouded in mist. The water itself is chocolaty-brown in color, dark and deep, and it rolls lazily with the periodic gusts of air that cause the tall reeds on the bank to dance. You don’t think you’ll be taking a swim here any time soon.

There’s a crowd too, much like the one outside of Mr. Rosewater’s pub on the morning after his murder, huddled together about twenty feet from the water front. Beyond them is a long strand of police rope, supported by wooden stakes, that clearly divide the scene of the crime from the rest of the world. Of course the officers from Rainbowfalls would already have everything under control; they’d been here all night!

“What do you see?” Miss Pyrope asks, as the pair of you move closer and closer to the excitement.

“Um, well there’s a boat that looks like it’s been washed ashore.” You begin, eyeing the small, wooden vessel that appears to be lodged amongst the reeds in the muddy grass. It’s no bigger than a stagecoach, with broken oars hanging from it’s side and a single word barely visible, painted down it’s hull: _Brooks’ Beast_. “Does Brooks’ Beast mean anything?”

“The Brooks’ Beast belongs to Mrs. Brooks.”

“The lady with the ground nymph that turned out to be a sweet rocking chair?”

“The very same! Mrs. Brooks must be our victim. What else?”

You continue describing the scene.

“There are… five police officers poking around it. I don’t think we’ll be getting in there to look for clues any time soon.”

“Is there a body?”

“I don’t see one. Maybe she drowned?”

“I doubt it. Mrs. Brooks is a practiced seawoman and is probably the best swimmer in the entire town, despite her bones being about as old as your haircut is out of style.”

“Hey!”

“That’s just payback for earlier, mister. You wanna play with the dogs, sometimes you’re gonna get bitten. Hehehe!” She laughs shrilly, causing several members of the crowd to glance in your direction. You make eye contact with a few and try to wave, but none return the favor. “And anyways, they wouldn’t send the crier out screaming about murder if she just got super hammered and stumbled into the water. There wouldn’t be this much police involvement either. No, there was definitely some foul play.”

“I agree!” Chirps a voice from over your shoulder. Turning quickly, you find that it’s none other than Jane Crocker who has spoken. She looks much better than when you last saw her (her time with her friends at the party must have done well to raise her spirits) and she’s dressed in some… interesting attire. A long, flowing trench coat and a snappy-looking fedora. “Would either of you mind if I picked your brains for a moment?” She asks, turning a notebook over and over again in her hand.

“Only if we get to do the same in return!” Miss Pyrope smiles widely. “You’re Jane, right?”

“Yes ma’am!”

“Wonderful to _smell_ you again. Hehe. You wouldn’t happen to know any info about what happened here, would you?”

“You bet. I’ve been here all morning!”  Jane beams and flips open her notebook, resting a pen on the first blank page. “Sorry to jump on you guys like this, but I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation. I’m afraid that yes, it _was_ Mrs. Brooks who was found early this morning, murdered on her own fishing boat.”

“Rest her soul.”

“Amen. Anyways, here’s the lowdown, Jade Harley, the lass who lives up the hill, comes running into town and calls for the nearest police officer. She tells them all about how she saw Mrs. Brooks boat from her bedroom window and how weird it was that the boat was smashed into the shore instead of docked at the beach, right? So yeah, the cops come to investigate and find Mrs. Brooks completely mutilated on the deck of her own ship.” Jane points with her pen over to the buzzing crime scene. “Horrible mess, those poor folks from Rainbowfalls spent hours cleaning it up before the sun rose and people starting come to check it out.”

“Did they move the body?” Miss Pyrope asks.

“Yes, ma’am. They packed her up and had her moved back into town. Last I heard, they were examining her in her own home over on Main Street.”

“Interesting, very interesting. You’re quite the observant one, Crocker.” Your boss actually sounds impressed.

“Why, thank you!” Jane gives a small curtsey. “That’s what I’m going for at the moment. After what happened the other night with Mr. Rosewater and… all that other nasty stuff.” She shivers at the memory. “I just couldn’t focus on baking or cooking or reading or any of the other stuff I like to do! So, I decided to- well, turn my life around! I’m going to be an investigative journalist! The first ever in Silverchurch.”

“Oh my golden rings! Jane, that’s the most badass thing I’ve ever heard!” You can’t help but exclaim. “That totally explains your sweet getup now. Haha.”

“Oh, you like this?” Jane tips her hat and shoots you a wink. “It used to belong to my dad.”

“Yes, yes. I’m sure you look very snazzy and we’re all excited for your change in occupation, but can we please stay on topic for the time being? They’ll be plenty of time for chit chat _after_ I’ve got a clear idea of what happened in my head.” Miss Pyrope is frowning and you exchange a glance with Jane. Your boss is right after all, this is currently very serious business. More than that too, you have the sneaking suspicion that Miss Pyrope thought rather fondly of Mrs. Brooks. “Is there anything else you can tell us, Jane?”

“Not that I can think of.” Jane has started scribbling away in her book. “But maybe there are a few things you might be able to clear up for me. May I?” She looks to you then, eyes flickering between you and Miss Pyrope, a silent question.

“Wha… Oh yes! Yes, of course.” You reply, caught off guard. “Ask us anything, although I dunno if we’ll have anything helpful to say. We just got here, after all.”

“Nonsense! Your insight, paired with what I’ve witnessed this morning, will be perfect for the first edition of my very own newspaper: _The Crocker Chronicle_! Has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it? Hohoho.” Jane laughs briefly, and then shifts straight into business mode. “So, down to brass tacks. Do you think that there’s any correlation, Miss Pyrope, between Mrs. Brooks murder and her position as the only fisherwoman in the entire town of Silverchurch.”

“Undoubtedly!” Responds Miss Pyrope confidently. “But, it’s easy to draw a correlation between any two things, isn’t it? Like the idea that when I do _this_ ,” Miss Pyrope suddenly stands on her tiptoes and draws a long line of saliva down your jaw with her tongue. “John is bound to say:”

“Oh my fucking god!”

“See?”

“Perhaps,” Jane muses. “But don’t you think it’s odd that both of the murder victims thus far have been the sole proprietors of their own trade? Mrs. Brooks sold fresh fish from her front doorstep and Mr. Rosewater has owned that pub for over twenty years. Maybe someone’s out to ruin Silverchurch by damaging our economy.”

“An astute guesstimation for such a virgin investigative journalist, but have you considered the fact that most everyone in Silverchurch runs their own business, and that Mr. Rosewater’s murderer was, in fact, some type of man-eating monster and not a fiscal terrorist? Tell me, was Mrs. Brooks’ body given the same bloody treatment as your former employer’s, Jane?”

“I didn’t get a good look at her.” Answers Jane, slightly disappointed. “But judging by the amount of time it took for the policemen to clean it up, I’d say whoever killed her made quite the mess.”

“Then I suspect that whoever killed Mr. Rosewater and Mrs. Brooks are most likely one and the same.”

“Yes and I know, it seems stupid to think that whatever beast attacked me and killed these people would have some kind of plan in mind, but what if this monster isn’t just attacking randomly? I mean, wouldn’t someone have seen it out and about by now if it was just wandering around mindlessly?”

“Some animals are pretty damn smart.” Answers Miss Pyrope simply. “Our culprit could be hiding in the nearby forests and coming into town every night for food.”

“Like Grendel?” You offer.

“What?”

“Grendel. You know, that monster from Beowulf.”

Miss Pyrope crooks her head in your direction.

“John, if you’re not going to add anything constructive, I’d suggest you keep your mouth shut. Or else you risk the chance of getting another licking. Hehehe.”

“Keep your tongue away from me.”

“No promises.”

“Blegh!” Jane pulls a face. “Can you two _not_ flirt so weirdly in public? It’s really disturbing.”

“Whoa! We aren’t-“ You start, but you’re drowned out as Miss Pyrope starts speaking again.

“To give you my professional opinion, Jane – and feel free to put this quote in the first edition of your paper by the way – I’d say that the correlation between these deaths is little more than living in the same town, during the same week, and being unlucky enough to be caught alone. That is all.”

Jane seems a little disappointed as she writes in her notebook and you don’t blame her. You’re a little surprised at Miss Pyrope yourself. If you had to put money down, you’d bet heavily that if anyone was to ever suspect some sort of conspiracy to be at play in these murders, then it would be Silverchurch’s own, self-proclaimed supernatural detective.

“Well, alright then.” Jane flips her notebook closed. “Thanks for your time, Terezi, and you too John. I’ll give you both a big shout-out in the first Crocker Chronicle.”

“We’ll look for it!” You cheer, and give Jane a swift handshake before she departs back towards town alone.

Miss Pyrope waits a few seconds, making sure that Jane has truly disappeared through the clump of trees between the lake and Jade’s tower, before letting out a long _‘pssshhhhh’_ and shaking her head sourly.

“What’s your problem?” You ask.

“Jane sure is a smart girl,” She explains. “But damn can she be a dumbass.”

“What are you talking about?”

“She has no idea what she’s getting herself into here, John. Now is the _worst_ time for anyone to be starting their own private investigation. We have no idea how far this conspiracy goes!”

“But you just said that there was no conspiracy.”

“Yeah, but I was lying, _ob-vi-ous-ly_.” She lengthens the word as if she’s talking to a particularly dim school child. “Really, I think Jane’s on to something there and sure, it’s a something that I’ve been on to since day one, but for a fresh-faced journalist she’s not off to a bad start. The less she knows though, the less chance of her getting herself into trouble. These murders are definitely linked and if you ask me, a pattern is starting to emerge. We just have to figure out what.”

The wind shifts and a powerful blast of chilly air suddenly races across the lakeside. People shriek and wrap themselves in their jackets, unattended hats go flipping past you, and you spot a familiar purple parasol tumbling towards you across the grass. You abandon Miss Pyrope and lurch forward to snatch it up.

“Brrrrr. What is it?” She asks, shivering.

Straightening up, you scan the crowd and quickly find the owner of the umbrella. Rose is standing a ways up the hill, as far away from the waterside as possible while still being close enough to be considered part of the onlookers. She’s wearing all black again, which isn’t too surprising honestly, but would it kill her to dress with a little bit of color? Her girlfriend is a fashion connoisseur for goodness sake!

Well, maybe you shouldn’t be one to throw stones, you think, as you appraise your own appearance. You could really use a change of clothes yourself, and a bath, and a shave, and good night’s sleep. Hell, you need a lot of things.

“Rose is here.” You clarify, tucking Rose’s parasol under one arm and offering the other to your boss. “Shall we?”

“Lead the way! Hehe.”

The air grows even cooler somehow as you climb the hill, as if the tempture wasn’t dropping bizarrely enough. You do your best to hide your discomfort from Miss Pyrope. Odds are that it will be a long, long while before you’ll be allowed to head indoors to warm up and you don’t want to be a bother.

As you draw near to Rose, your heart gives an uncomfortable lurch. The poor woman looks like absolute shit, not that you’d ever tell her that. Her face has taken a sickly pallid complexion and has become rather gaunt, her hair is limp and mousey, and when she looks at you, it’s as if even her irises have become ragged. Damn, she did _not_ look this bad last night.

“Terrible isn’t it?” She wonders, as you come to a stop by her side.

“Oh- er, well, I don’t think it’s anything a bowl of soup and some bed rest won’t fix.” You suggest, giving her a hopefully reassuring smile as you offer her the lost parasol.

“Not _me_ , you big jerk. I’m talking about all this.” Rose snatches her umbrella back and gestures down to the lake. “It’s horrible, isn’t it? And only a mere day after Mr. Rosewater himself was found murdered.”

“Yes, yes, nothing is beautiful and everything hurts. We don’t need any more doom and gloom, alright? Let’s cut to the chase, Rose.” Miss Pyrope rubs her hands together, either in excitement or simply to generate heat, you can’t tell. “You knew that this was going to happen, didn’t you?”

“I had a feeling, yes.” Rose’s expression grows shrewd. “But recently it’s been hard to distinguish between what is actually a relevant premonition and what is just me falling ill to the rapid increase of negative energy in Silverchurch.”

“But you can still _see_ stuff, yes? You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t have something to give me.” Miss Pyrope grips her cane tightly puts all of her weight on it by leaning forward. “I can tell you haven’t slept all night, Rose, and I know it’s not because the party last night was simply too bumping to call the quits. What’s on your mind?”

Rose folds her arms and lets out a little sigh. You can tell that standing out here in the cold isn’t doing her any favors, but she made the effort anyways, and you try to show her your appreciation with winning smile. After a pause to collect her thoughts, she speaks:

“After the wake, I returned to my library and attempted to get some sleep. You’re right though, I couldn’t, and after hours of fruitless attempts, I came to the realization that the sickening twinges of dark aura that had been hanging over me for the past week were growing stronger than ever. I abandoned all attempts to sleep and instead induced a meditative state,” Rose glances to you as she explains. “Which at times can be helpful at giving me clear visions, instead of simply gut feelings.”

“What did you see?”

“I saw… flashes. It was as if my own vision had been swapped for someone else’s. I saw a part of the sky, some of the lake, and then…” Rose pauses for dramatic effect. “ _Glowing red eyes_.”

You attempt to exchange a look with Miss Pyrope, but of course, she doesn’t meet your eye. You know what she’s thinking though. Jane described a glowing set of red eyes as well when she told you about her own attack. God, that feels like so long ago.

“Anything else?” Miss Pyrope prods.

“No, I’m afraid that’s it.” Rose shrugs. “I’m sorry, but like I said, it was only a flash. I spent the rest of the night trying to decipher what it meant, but couldn’t come up with anything concrete. When I heard the news this morning and came down here, it was too late anyways.”

Miss Pyrope nods in understanding, lips contorting once more in thought.

“Thanks for your help, Rose. I’d go home and get some rest if I were you.” She advises after a long moment, and then adds quickly. “You wouldn’t have happened to see Jade around, would you?”

“No, actually I haven’t. I even stopped by her tower on the way here, but she didn’t come to the door.” Rose’s eyes narrow slightly. “Why do you ask?”

“Simply wondering. Have a good day!” And before either you or Rose can talk, Miss Pyrope snatches you by the sleeve and pulls you away, apparently in no direction in particular.

You strain to give Rose a friendly wave goodbye, but Miss Pyrope is moving at such a pace that it’s difficult to turn back. It doesn’t matter anyway though, when you manage to look, Rose is already retreating back towards town, looking like a small ink stain on the grassy knoll.

“Can you stop for a second?” You ask. “You’re going to run us into the lake if you don’t cut it out.”

“I don’t want us to be overheard.” Miss Pyrope explains, not slowing.

“Even by Rose?”

“ _Especially_ by Rose.”

Okay, now you’re just confused.

“Miss Pyrope.” You dig your heels into the ground, bringing her to a grinding halt. “I know that you want me to trust you and all, but this shit is starting to get old. Please, for the love of god, just tell me what you’re thinking right now.”

“I’m thinking that this is the second murder in as many days that has a distinct trail leading right up there,” She points up the hill. “To a Jade Harley’s precious little tower. Think about it, John, the lake is right behind Jade’s house, far away from anyone else’s eyes and ears, Jade was the one to discover Mrs. Brooks’ body, Jade is the proud owner of a giant murder-hound that could easily rip apart two people for fun if it was left unattended, no problem.”

“Aw, this again? Give it a rest, Miss Pyrope. Jade is cool! Her dog isn’t a murderer and there’s no way in hell that she’d cover it up if he was!”

“Don’t let your affection for Jade cloud your judgment, John.”

“I’m not!” You thrust your hands onto your hips sternly and for some reason that causes Miss Pyrope to smile.  You plow ahead regardless. “You and I have been down this road before and it’s gotten us nowhere. What makes you think that anything has changed?”

“Because now a pattern is starting to immerge, something that was recently brought to my attention, something that I ruled out as an impossibility before.” Miss Pyrope’s sunglasses twinkle in the mid-morning light. “It’s time we took our investigation to the next step, before someone else gets hurt. There’s only one way to confirm or dispel my suspicions and that, my dear assistant, is with an old fashion stakeout. Hehe!”

You let out a long groan.

“Something tells me that this isn’t going to be very fun.”

“Don’t be a pessimist, John. It’s very unbecoming. Now come on,” Miss Pyrope urges you into motion again. “There’s no time to waste!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to say that the climax is coming soon, but honestly it’s hard to tell. These chapters just keep getting longer and longer (this one being the longest yet) and certain things that I have planned just keep getting pushed back into later chapters. Which I guess may be a good thing if you like this story, but if you’re one of those that just want it to be over already (and i don’t know why you’d read this if you are) then I sincerely apologize :[
> 
> Thanks for reading. Go watch Yu-Gi-Oh Abridged.  
> \- Mike


	9. Nothing Good Happens After 2AM

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Killkatrat and Reveille for commenting.

=> Be John Egbert

You are John Egbert. Which means that you’re one saddle and bridle away from being a literal pack mule.

“Just a little bit further, John. I think I’ve almost found the perfect spot!” Miss Pyrope calls from ahead of you.

You grunt in response, choosing to save the rest of your precious breath to fuel your muscles enough to carry you the final ten yards of your journey, instead responding with a coherent complaint. It really is unfortunate that these types of duties, the type that includes lugging heavy sacks of equipment for what feels like miles upon miles, weren’t listed in the job description. You have a runner’s physique, for goodness sake! Your pianist fingers were not meant for such brutish behavior.

With a victorious cry, which comes out as more of a whimper, you finally throw your load to the ground with a heavy _thump_ and stumble over to the nearest tree to brace yourself against it, lest your legs go out from under you.

“Perfect.” Comments Miss Pyrope. “Simply perfect.”

You’ve come to a stop on the precipice of a tall and rocky mount. The tree you’re leaning against is one of the four pieces of vegetation on the knoll, the others being a patch of grass, something that looks suspiciously like poison oak, and a stray tumbleweed. With nothing to stand in it’s way, the wind blows something fierce, the cold cuts straight to your bone and, if you were to stand tall and open an umbrella, you wouldn’t be surprised if you got carried away down the hill again.

Miss Pyrope stands magnificently at the cliffs edge, her coat tails whipping about her knees and her brittle hair dancing around her face. Beyond her, the town of Silverchurch is splayed out like a collection of identical, lopsided shacks and directly towards the east, sits Jade Harley’s tower, as out of place and wonderful as ever, one hundred and ten percent visible from your new vantage point.

“We’ll camp here to the night.” Your employer continues, her nose turned towards the sky. “We can watch and record any and all of Jade’s movements, as well as watch over our fair town with an eye as sharp and vindictive as the night raven’s! Hehehe!”

“You mean, _I’ll_ be doing all of that.” You correct, still catching your breath. “Just like _I’ll_ be the one that won’t get any sleep tonight or like how _I’ll_ be the one that’ll carry all this crap back to your house tomorrow morning.” You give the nearest tote a disdainful kick and instantly regret it as your foot connects with something hard and metal.

“ _Our_ house.” Miss Pyrope corrects your correction, her voice drawling. “And it’s like a ten minute walk back into town, get a grip on yourself. You’re getting paid for all of this shit, aren’t you?

“Four bucks a week is not nearly enough for this.”

“We’ll negotiate over your pay later then. Right now though, we should get started on setting up camp. I’d say that we only have about…” She pauses to sniff the air and even flicks out her tongue to taste it. “Less than two hours of daylight left. We have to make sure we don’t miss Jade entering or leaving her house. If we do, this whole stakeout will be for nothing! So let’s hop to it!”

She taps her cane along the ground until she discovers one of the bags, then she descends upon it, unfastening the drawstring quickly to start rooting around inside. After retrieving a bundle of blankets, she straightens up and turns to you. You haven’t moved yet from your spot by the tree.

“Unless… you’d rather quit?” She wonders.

You take a deep breath.

“Nooo.” You sigh.

With no small amount of mopeing, you sit on the rocks, pull the bag you recently kicked up into your lap, and begin unpacking all the weird shit Miss Pyrope insisted on bringing with her from the house. A few feet away, near the cliff’s edge, the woman herself rolls out several blankets like you’re having a picnic and smiles into the collar of her coat so that you can’t see.

Apparently _‘setting up camp’_ consists of stacking your gear safely near the base of the tree and setting out a couple of bedrolls. It’s quick work, and soon you’re sitting on the blankets, overlooking the town.

Miss Pyrope has given you a pair of ancient binoculars. At one point, they’d probably been the color of bright copper, but tell-tale wear and tear had dulled them to a gross brown. You peer through the cracked lenses now and test your view on tower below.

Jade Harley is out in her garden at the moment, kneeling over a row of fluffy green leaves (carrots, if you had to guess). Bec is nearby, lounging on a dry plot of soil and soaking in the last bit of semi-warm sunlight before the end of the day. Even from this distance he looks like a fucking monster.

“I got eyes on Jade.” You inform your boss. “I guess the only thing to do now is wait and see what she does.”

“Indeed.” Miss Pyrope is still rummaging around somewhere behind you.

“Hmm. Don’t you think we should have, I dunno, _questioned_ Jade about what happened last night before we went through all this trouble to spy on her?”

“No way, buttercup. That would tip our hand and give away our element of surprise. No, we’ve got to make sure we catch her in her element, acting natural, without raising suspicion.”

“Ugh, but what if she’s not even our culprit!” You shoot Miss Pyrope a glare, for all the good it will do. “What if we’re wasting our time here, while the _real_ killer is out there… out there- out there _killing_ or whatever!”

“You second guess too much. Sometimes, John, you just have to go with the flow.”

Go with the flow. Now, that doesn’t sound right at all. What kind of private detective just _‘goes with the flow’_? Miss Pyrope certainly doesn’t seem like the type, always talking about exploring all possibilities, and not coming up with theories until you’ve collected enough data. It sounds like bullshit to you.

Also, you’re about as easy-going as they come!

“I feel like there’s something you aren’t telling me.” You lower the binoculars and rub at the bridge of your nose where you glasses have pressed into your skin. “It really feels like you’ve got something figured out, like you’ve got some big plan in mind, while I’m just along for the ride and that really sucks.”

“Fuh.” Miss Pyrope groans. “I thought we talked about this! You’re on a need-to-know basis, man!”

“Yeah, well who decides _what_ and _when_ I get to know stuff? You? That seems awfully shitty and contrived. And, I mean,” You gesture around the camp site. “Look at where I am right now. You expect me to just go through all this hassle and spy on one of my friends just because you tell me to? I’m not expecting you to, like, explain everything in perfect detail, but just let me in on what’s going on in that fucked-up head of yours, alright? Gosh!”

“You sound like you have a lot of pent up frustration. Hehe.” There are footsteps on the rock, then Miss Pyrope’s hand comes down on your shoulder, followed quickly by the rest of her as she settles by your side. “You wanna talk about it?”

“No, and now you’re just changing the subject.” You go back to your binoculars. Jade has vanished from her garden and, for a moment, you begin to thank that you’ve lost her. However, you spot her bushy mane a second later, bobbing through the trees near the lake. “Oh geez. I almost lost her for a second. Heh. She’s going down to the lake now.”

“Interesting. The guilty _always_ return to the scene of the crime.” You companion comments from you side. “And anyways, John. Has it ever crossed your little mind that perhaps the reason I’m so secretive with you, is that you haven’t been all that honest yourself?”

“What are you talking about?” For a rather commanding employer, Miss Pyrope sure is doing her best to distract you.

“What have _you_ told _me_ about anything?”

You ponder her words. Thinking back, you don’t think you’ve ever actually sat down with Miss Pyrope and just had a conversation like two normal people. You’ve never talked about your favorite books or pastimes, your families or anything! It appears that in all the hubbub of other crap, you’ve forgotten how to be a real friend.

Now that hurts.

“There’s not much to tell, really.” You shrug. “All of my stuff seems really dumb and unimportant compared to all the mysterious shenanigans you deal with. Like the other night with Vriska, she dropped like _fifteen_ major hints about stuff that happened in your past and dangled them in front of me like she was fishing for something. It was ridiculous.”

“That’s just the type of manipulative games she likes to play, John! You can’t let her get under your skin.” From her pocket Miss Pyrope produces a crumpled cigarette. “Fetch me a match, will you? They’re in the bag with all the socks.”

You drop the binoculars and rise to go locate the bag with the matches. Inside, you find a fuck-ton of socks, which is a little odd, but you suppose one can never have enough socks. When you return to Miss Pyrope, she offers you the cigarette, clutched precariously between her thin lips.

“You know this isn’t good for you, right?” You say as you strike the match.

“I’ll pass on the after school special, thank you very much.” Miss Pyrope takes a long drag and proceeds to blow perfect smoke ring directly into your face. Whether or not she did that on purpose, you don’t know, but you bat it away regardless and reclaim your position as peeping tom.

Jade is still down by the lake. You can see her through the trees. Apparently she and Bec are playing some sort of game in the shallow water, about fifty yards away from Mrs. Brooks’ ruined boat. Watching them, you find it hard to believe that either of them would be capable of murder. They just look so happy.

Fuck. Look at you, spying on people like this. Your father is probably spinning in his grave right now.

“Sooooo.” Miss Pyrope breaks the silence again. “What sort of stuff did Vriska tell you about? Like anything in specific?”

“She told me about your past together and how you fucked her over.” You recite. “Also she mentioned Tavros and someone named Kitkat or something.”

“Karkat.”

“Yeah! That’s it. What’s the deal with him, by the way? Vriska said his name in a real ominous way.”

“I bet she did. Karkat and I were…” She trails off, scratches at her scalp. “It’s complicated.”

“Was he your boyfriend?”

“Something like that.”

“Not a fan of labels, huh?” You adjust the focus on the binoculars. Jade is moving again. “I can get that.”

“Mhmm.” She hums.

The pair of you lapse into silence again. The breeze still blows callously, whipping at your hair, and the sun swiftly disappears over the horizon so that only a thin curve of light remaining. You watch Jade intently as she moves back towards her tower, Bec trotting loyally behind her. Looks like playtime is over when the sun goes down, which makes sense. Being out at night is dangerous, especially since there’s a murderer on the loose.

“So did you guys like break up or something?” You ask, attention mostly devoted to keeping Jade solely in your sights.

“He died, actually.”

With a sinking feeling in your chest, you turn around to look at Miss Pyrope then, fully expecting her to look upset, or perhaps angry at your insensitivity, or maybe even on the verge of breaking down into full-blown tears at the abrupt way she’d been forced to recall the memory of her dead lover/assistant/whatever the hell Karkat was. Instead though, the woman looks incredibly serene and… dare you say it, actually _normal_ for the first time ever. She sits by your side, relaxed, feet dangling over the edge of the rocky crag.

“I see…” You do your best to proceed cautiously. “That sucks.”

“Meh.” Miss Pyrope’s shoulders rise and fall.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not necessarily.”

“Well… okay then.” You awkwardly return to your binoculars. Jade has retreated into the tower now and is lighting candles near some of the upper windows. The faint glow of the sun has slipped away from you, instead being replaced by shimmering clusters of stars, barely visible through the incessant blanket of clouds overhead.

From your vantage point, Silverchurch looks almost picturesque. It would be a beautiful night, you think, if you were up here on this hill for any other reason than what you’re actually here for.

“It was years ago.” Miss Pyrope begins, unprompted. You momentarily unsure what she’s talking about, then you remember. “During the early days of my career as the world’s foremost expert on unexplained phenomena. Karkat was my first assistant ever.”

“If you don’t want to talk about this Miss Pyrope, you don’t have-“

“He wasn’t very good at taking directions.” She continues, as if you hadn’t spoken. “Or _following_ directions, or listening, or writing, or anything else really. In fact, he was kind of a piece of shit. He was always yelling about that or whining about this. I would probably have fired him if he hadn’t gone off and gotten himself killed.”

“What happened?” You’re curious now.

“Oh, John. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay! That’s totally fine. We can talk about something-“

“Fine! If you insist! We were investigating this cult of supposed witches that were holed up about five miles out of town, not too far from where you and I are sitting right now.” She begins. “They were apparently conducting magical experiments on the local wildlife, trying to put legs onto snakes, giving fish the ability to fly, and teaching honey bees how to read and write. It was a horrible mess that had to be stopped.”

“Really? I mean, that doesn’t sound too bad to me.”

“Have you ever seen a fish with wings, John?”

“No. I can’t say I have.”

“Well, they’re like snakes with legs: not very pretty. Don’t even get me started those super bees either! Give an insect the ability to understand written language and suddenly they’re building their own society and having bee revolutions! Now _that_ was a long day. Anyways, me and Karkat were on the case one evening, formulating a plan to stop the witches’ experiments, when he just up and decided to go _talk_ to the damn sorcerers. Needless to say, it didn’t go well.”

“They killed him.”

“No, they transmogrified him into a crab actually.” Miss Pyrope’s cigarette stub gets smushed against the rocks between her legs. “So I tracked the witches down myself, put an end to their schemes, and ended up with a literal crab as an assistant. I searched anywhere and everywhere I could to find a way to reverse Karkat’s transformation, but  I couldn’t… there wasn’t-” For the first time since bringing up her late assistant, Miss Pyrope’s face falls. “Crabs only live about three years. I ran out of time.”

She lifts her glasses and drags her coat sleeve across her eyes.

“Nobody believed me when I told them what happened either.” She sighs. “I had to bury Karkat in a shoebox myself, under a tree in the cemetery. He was a stupid idiot, just so stupid.”

This is most bizarrely tragic story you’ve ever fucking heard. If it wasn’t Miss Pyrope’s completely straight delivery, you probably would have chuckled once or twice. For several long seconds, the pair of you just sit in silence, her story finished, and you not quite knowing what to say.

Miss Pyrope lets out a small hic-cup.

“John.” She says. “What are you doing?”

“Uh- I’m trying to hug you, I think.” You have one arm awkwardly resting across her shoulders. You give her a couple of pats on her arm. “I’m sorry about Karkat.”

“Thanks.” She doesn’t try to shrug you off, which you think is a good sign. “It’s just frustrating sometimes, you know? Half of the time it feels like nobody listens to me at all.”

“Wow that sounds really angsty.”

“Don’t ruin the moment. I’m having a moment of reflection right now, you dingus.”

“Sorry.” Without the sun, the blustery weather feels infinitely colder. Miss Pyrope doesn’t comment as you shiver a little bit closer to her. Man, for such a little person, she sure does give off a lot of body heat. It probably has something to do with her metabolism or whatever. You didn’t pay attention in school all that much. “Well, if it’s any consolation.” You say. “I can assure you that I won’t be running off on my own any time soon. The last thing I want to do is be turned into a fish.”

“Crustacean.” Miss Pyrope corrects. “Crabs are crustaceans. And thank you, I appreciate it. As far as assistant’s go… well, let’s just say that you aren’t as much of a dweeb as you make yourself out to be.”

“That’s a pretty back-handed compliment.”

“Well it’s all you’re getting at the moment.”

You chuckle and Miss Pyrope smiles. For the time being, the binoculars lay forgotten by your side, as the two of you just sit under the stars. It would be romantic if you were here with anyone else or if Miss Pyrope didn’t smell suspiciously like garlic and mulch.

The stars shift overhead, the full moon rises and climbs towards the center of the sky, and the lights in Jade’s tower twinkle merrily from what feels like so far away. You begin to feel yourself nodding off slightly, but sit up straight when a thought suddenly strikes you.

“Hold on a second.” You take your arm from around her shoulders and dig through your pockets. After a bit of rummaging, you find what you’re looking for, a little crumpled but still resting in your breast pocket. “Here!”

You press it against Miss Pyrope’s arm and she takes it.

“What is it?” She asks.

“It’s a tarot card. This one is the hanged man which is all about letting go and coming to terms with your circumstances and stuff. Rose gave it to me at the party, but I think you should have it.”

“Now _this_ is probably the most backhanded token I’ve ever gotten.”

“What are you talking about? This is one hundred percent genuine!”

“Sure. Hehehe.” She tucks the card into her coat regardless. “I’ve got a wobbly chair at home that this will fix nicely, just gotta slot it beneath the chair leg. Thanks, John. You’re the best assistant a lady could ask for.”

“Oh. Har har.” You return finally to your binoculars. “You know, if you’re going to be this sarcastically appreciative about every gift I give you, then you’re going to be sorely disappointed come around christmas…”

You trail off. There’s some activity taking place down below outside of Jade’s tower.

The front door is wide open now and abandoned, spilling a column of light out onto the dark grass. A dark shape, undoubtedly human, is moving quickly through the garden, towards the cluster of trees nearby. You press your glasses firmly against the binoculars’ lens, trying to get a better view. There’s a dull flash, then the figure is illuminated by the glow of an oil lantern.

It’s Jade, clothed rather hastily in a fur-lined coat over a set of striped pajamas. The lantern swings wildly from one hand as she darts down the hill, shedding light on the path ahead and the ground beneath her bare feet alternatively. Tucked under her other arm, is a long and dangerous-looking rifle that looks like it could take down a fully grown elephant if the need ever came up. You’re momentarily stunned by the sight, but Miss Pyrope’s words bring you back to attention.

“What’s going on?” She asks. She must have sensed your sudden interest in the scene below, or perhaps she noticed that you’ve stopped breathing.

“Jade’s on the move.” You explain, keeping your eyes on your quarry. “She’s running through the trees by the lake with a gun. I think… I think she’s looking for something.”

Sure enough, Jade comes to a stop everyone and a while between the trees, holds the lantern high above her head and opens her mouth to yell something completely unintelligible from this distance, at least for you. Miss Pyrope’s ears, although, prick slightly by your side and her neck twists sharply to angle her head downwards.

You watch and she listens.

“We should move in closer.” The detective hisses, as if talking to loud is a problem all the sudden. “Grab my bag.”

 “What?” You question as Miss Pyrope jumps to her feet. “No. Wait!”

But she’s not listening to you, with her cane in hand, she’s already tapping her way down the rocky slope and back towards town. You’re going to lose her in the darkness if you don’t hurry. Grumbling to yourself about nonsense, you shove the binoculars into your coat pocket and grab the messenger bag off the ground from where Miss Pyrope had first left it. The other totes you brought up to camp with you will have to be left behind for now, until you can come back for them later. You weren’t told to bring them along.

Jolts of pain race up your shin and congregate at your knee with every step down the slope. You grit your teeth though and continue forward, catching up to Miss Pyrope quickly. Thank goodness for her little legs.

“Wh- what’s the plan?” You ask, focusing hard to keep your footing while traveling downhill, as well as making sure your boss doesn’t take a tumble either. Her cane keeps catching on the rocks as she feels the path ahead.

“Maintain our distance while observing Jade’s behavior, then when the moment’s right. We strike!” Miss Pyrope jabs a finger in the air triumphantly as you reach the bottom of the hill and, by the graces above, level ground.

“And what does _that_ mean exactly?”

The pair of you cut through the outskirts of town, using the deserted back streets to your advantage. You cover a lot more ground over the well-worn path and you close the distance between your campsite and the bottom of Jade’s hill soon enough.

“It means that you and I may have to… intervene, depending on Jade’s behavior.” Miss Pyrope explains, her voice hushed as you ascend quickly towards the tower. “If she’s out and about right now, then I doubt it’s for any good reason. Stay close to me. Nothing good ever happens after two a.m.”

You look at your wristwatch and, sure enough, the clock reads four past two in the morning. Geez, time sure does fly when you’re having fun.

Mounting the top of the hill, you find Jade’s tower to be exactly the same as when you saw it from your previous vantage point. The front door is still open, revealing a glowing entrance hall full of all types of interesting doo daas and nik naks. You’d like to check it out, but Miss Pyrope is still on the move. She leaves you in the dust, picking her way through the over-flowing garden and towards the trees.

“Miss Pyrope.” You call after her, careful to keep your voice a little more than a whisper. “Fucking slow down. Shit.”

The trees, already carbon copies in the light of day, are nearly indistinguishable from one another at night.  A sense of panic washes over you as you lose sight of your boss in the foliage. It’s almost like the damn woman is trying to lose you, despite what she just said. Ditching you would be a real shit thing to do after the heart to heart you two just had not too long ago.

Your breath comes out in short bursts that crystallize in the air in front of you before dissipating.  You wipe cold sweat from your brow and grunt as your knee jars painfully against hard ground.

 Is it just you or does that tree branch look a little bit like a Frankenstein? It’s just the light playing tricks on you. Fuck, you should have brought a lantern.

“Come on, boy!” Cries a voice. It’s Jade. She’s out here somewhere as well. She whistles loudly. “You’re a good boy, aren’t you? Come on!”

You come to a stop next to a fallen log and brace yourself against it to catch your breath. You have a decision to make. Either you continue straight, in the direction that Miss Pyrope went, or you change course and follow the sound of Jade’s voice. In the end, the decision is made for you.

There’s a flash of red through the trees, but it disappears quickly as it streaks towards where Jade is calling from.

“Miss Pyrope.” You whisper blindly. “Is that you?”

There’s no answer.

Grumbling to yourself once more, you begin making your way towards Jade. Roots and stray branches that have fallen to the ground do their absolute best to trip you up, and in spite of your best efforts, they succeed every whence and then. After nearly pitching forward onto your face for the fourth time, you decide that this whole ‘ _stealth approach’_ can go take a long walk off a short pier. There has to be a better way.

You begin digging through Miss Pyrope’s bag, which is still slung over your shoulder. There isn’t a lantern inside, of course, but you’re quick the find the next best thing. Okay, maybe the third best thing: a matchbook, much like the one you used earlier. It’s torn partially, and missing most of it’s numbers, but it’s still the second most beautiful thing you’ve seen all night.

With hands shaking slightly from the cold, you manage to strike one of the matches, and weakly illuminate the path ahead.

You nearly let out a scream of surprise.

Directly ahead of you and approaching fast, is none other than Miss Pyrope herself. She races towards you at top speed, her cane tapping once against the ground for every two of her footsteps. It’s a wonder that she hasn’t fallen or twisted her ankle at this pace, but then again, maybe she’s just a badass like that.

You brace yourself on instinct, ready for her to come barreling straight into you. Instead, however, her cane bounces against your ankle and she swiftly changes course.

“Run, run, run, run.” She chatters as she breezes past, causing the flame of your match to flutter in the breeze left in her wake.

You watch her in confusion, brain lacking the processing speed to understand her words or her bizarre behavior. When you turn back to look from whence she came though, you begin to understand. Directly ahead of you, suspended seemingly in midair, are a pair of glowing red eyes.

The eyes, as luck would have it, move closer to you and you quickly discover that they are indeed attatached to a head, which is in turn attatached to a massive, monstrous body. Your knee brace rattles as your legs quake involuntarily.

It’s weird what your brain conjures up in times of extreme stress. At the moment, you’re remembering a conversation you had with Miss Pyrope sometime earlier, something about following her instructions at the drop of a hat or whatever. You should probably do as you’re told.

You drop the match, turn on your heel, and begin to run.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow this took a long time to get out. I’ve just been so insanely busy recently with school and work and bleh so much other crap lol Anyways, these updates might slow down about, since I’ll be taking a full load of classes this semester, as opposed to the four hours i’ve been taking over the summer. So yeah, just keeping yall abreast on the happenings. Who knows, nothing might change at all!
> 
> Thanks for reading. You’re support means everything!  
> \- Mike


	10. The Monster Mash

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to xylopwn and Killkatrat for commenting.

=> Be John Egbert

You are still John Egbert. Which means you’re probably about to die.

There are worse ways to go, you suppose, than how you’re probably about to meet your end. At the moment, you’re running through the woods, completely lost, in the dead of night, about to be eaten alive by a motherfucking monster. To top it all off, that headache that’s been throbbing dully behind your eye for the past couple days, has suddenly erupted almost into a full-blown migraine too.

Eh. Scratch that earlier statement. Now that you really think about it, this actually _is_ a pretty awful way to go.

In the end, it’s your own clumsiness that lengthens your lifespan by a precious few seconds more. As you turn to run, in no direction in particular you might add, your shoe catches on a stray root and you topple forward at the exact same time the beast launches itself overhead. Your hands flail to catch yourself, but it’s the tip of your nose that unfortunately absorbs most of the impact with the earth.  Stars flash in front of your vision as a great _whhooosh_ of air, accompanied by a powerful wave of heat, goes sailing over you only to crash into the ground again some distance off, hard enough to rattle the nearby trees.

The monster missed; you can hear it thrashing around in the underbrush ahead of you now. It won’t be long though until it regains it’s bearings and comes after you again, this time with more accuracy. Adrenaline surges through your veins and propels you upward, first onto your arms, then your knees. The world is still spinning too furiously for you to trust your legs, something hot and sticky is dribbling from your nose and down your chin, and… someone is yelling.

You can’t tell who, but they sure are making quite the racket. Is it you? No. Your mouth isn’t open. Whipping your head around, you search for the crier, but see no one through the trees. Only the beast, large and shadowy, rearing it’s massive head in the darkness, glistening eyes set firmly on you once again.

The yelling turns to shrill screaming and gunshot suddenly rings out in the night, shattering the confused haze you were momentarily trapped in. The monster raises it’s head to the sky and lets out a long, booming _roar_ , like the clapping of thunder.

You should probably get moving.

Getting your legs underneath you is much easier said than done, but you manage it by bracing yourself against the nearest tree. Running, in light of these recent turn of events, is much less objectionable to your poor joints than before, and you make use of all of your reserve strength to drive yourself through the trees and in the vague direction of Silverchurch.

Where is Miss Pyrope? Is she okay? How is she going to get to safety when she can’t see for shit? What about Jade? Is she the one yelling and firing guns in the air like it’s the god damn Fourth of July? You hope that she’s okay too. Even if she is the reason you’re out in the woods, you’d hate for her to meet her own untimely end.

You cast a glance over your shoulder, checking to see if you’re being followed, but see nothing. It’s too dark to tell for sure. On a whim, you change course and dive behind the trunk of a wide tree, pausing to catch your breath against the rough bark.

Your friends are still out here, sitting ducks in the eyes of the demonic hell spawn that just tried to gobble you up. You’re scared, you’re hurt, and you’re confused, but you can’t leave Miss Pyrope and Jade out here alone. By the time you run to get help, it might be too late.

You have to find them.

“Hey.” Hisses a sharp voice. “What the hell are you doing?”

You let out a squeal and jump ten feet into the air.

It’s Miss Pyrope. The little minx has snuck up on you unawares like a total douchebag. If you weren’t so happy to see her, you probably would have given her the chewing-out of a lifetime. Nevertheless, you’re immensely relieved to no longer be alone, so your scolding will have to wait for now, preferably until you’re back within the safety of Miss Pyrope’s office, over a cup of tea, with a blanket draped over your shoulders.

That sounds nice.

“I thought I told you to run.” She continues, her sunglasses flashing in the moonlight. One of the buttons on her coat is missing, there are too many leaves and twigs caught in her hair to count, and a long, thin cut runs from her sharp cheekbone, down to her even sharper chin. She must have run through a thorn bush or something.

“I- I tried.” You gasp, trying to catch your breath. “Oh man, what the fuck _is_ that thing?”

“Our serial killer, if I had to hazard a guess.” Miss Pyrope seizes you by the lapel and begins to tug you away from your hiding spot. “I’m still working out _who_ exactly, but I think I’m getting an idea. We have to move. Did you get a good look at it?”

“Yeah, it’s big! Like bigger than a horse, bigger than _Bec_!”

“Shusshh! Keep your voice down!” She crooks her ear towards the sky, listening intently as she moves. “Our ravenous friend is still out there, you dunce, and I’d rather he didn’t find us and turn us into a two course meal.”

“A two course meal?”

“Yeah. You’ll be eaten first, while I’m kept alive and warm, then it’ll eat me second. It’s like an entrée and a desert.”

“Oh I dunno, Miss Pyrope. If you ask me, it’d eat you first, _and then_ it would eat me. You’d be the appetizer and I’d be the entrée.”

“That’s stupid, no one in their right mind would have a two course meal with an appetizer instead of a desert.”

“People do it all the time! And even so, why do you think you’d be the desert in that situation? What if it decided to eat you first?”

“You’re the bigger snack, John. It’ll save you for the main course. Also, I’m the desert because I’m sweet, of course. Hehehe!”

“Ugh. Whatever.” You grab Miss Pyrope by the sleeve and do some tugging of your own, pulling her out of the way of a cluster of brambles. “Careful, you’re getting to rip yourself to shreds at this rate.”

“Only if you abandon me again.”

“I didn’t abandon you the first time! _You’re_ the one that ran off!”

“Shussshhh.”

“Sorry.”

The woods haven’t become any easier to navigate, but you certainly feel much less afraid with your employer by your side. Being the resident Silverchurch expert, you trust her to have a better sense of direction than you and to lead you to safety. She must have been in these woods hundreds of times, right?

“Fuck. I’m lost.” She proclaims eventually, coming to a stop next to a familiar-looking tree.

“Surely you can’t be serious.” You moan.

“I am serious, and don’t call me ‘ _Shirley’_. Have a dig around in my bag; I should have a compass in there somewhere.”

You do as you’re told and begin rooting through the messenger bag looped over your shoulder. There’s a lot of crap in here: magnifying glasses, embroidered handkerchiefs, compact mirrors (odd since such items are rather redundant for blind folk) and a bundle of something that resembles, quite horribly, human hair. You find what you’re looking for near the very bottom and pull it out quickly.

Flipping it open, you’re quite confused by what you find at first. It’s a compass, that much is recognizable, but instead of there just being the simple four cardinal directions, there’s a whole bunch of other shit too. In between west and south, there’s a direction labeled _weast_ , and above that is another one that is merely a picture of a cat’s pupil.

“Uh, Miss Pyrope. What kind of compass is this?”

“The kind that will drive you insane. Just give it to me, will you?” You hand her the compass and she flips it over between her hands, feeling along it’s surface with her nimble fingers. Sliding a long fingernail into a grove around the compasses edge, she pulls it apart and reveals the inner-workings of the device. You watch her fiddle with the thing for a long while, sweat still collecting on your brow and blood drying crisply to your upper lip. After a moment, she hands the compass back to you. “Where’s the needle pointing?” She asks.

“Um.” You examine the compass. The needle fluctuates between a couple of symbols, the number seven and a heart (much like the suit in a pack of cards) before finally shifting over to the letter _‘N’_. “It’s pointing north!”

“Perfect. Silverchurch is directly to the south of the woods. Lead us home, my trusty minion! Hehehe.”

“Right-oh!” You offer Miss Pyrope your arm and together you take two steps before coming to a stop again. “Aw. No, wait.”

“What is it now?”

“Jade’s still out here.”

“So.”

“So, we can’t leave her!” You stand on tip toe, for all the good it will do, and peer through the trees, trying to gauge your surroundings and catch a glimpse of bushy black hair.

“Jade can take care of herself, John. I’m sure of it. You and I on the other hand are much easier prey.”

“But she’s all alone! What if the monster sneaks up on her?”

“Really? You think a beast _that_ big can sneak up on someone? It’s about as big as a truck and plows it’s way through anything in it’s path like a rhinoceros. It has about as much stealth capabilities as a bicycle with two squeaky wheels.”

As she speaks, a warm breeze tousles the hair that rests on the nape of your neck.  That’s odd. You haven’t experienced a warm breeze for days, ever since you’ve first stepped foot in Silverchurch. It’s all been blistering cold and freezing rain.

“And what the fuck is that smell? Blech!” Wonders Miss Pyrope as well.

You cast a glance over your shoulder. The pair of trees directly behind you sway along with the warm draft, leaves shifting to point towards you, then twirling and pointing in the opposite direction, as if caught in the breathing of some giant monster.

Which, as luck would have it, is exactly what’s happening.

From the darkness, just out of your sight, a pair of glowing red eyes appear hovering once more. The beast snorts, blasting another gust of warm air in your direction.

“I think you spoke to soon, Miss Pyrope.” You mutter, then: “Run for your life!”

The detective doesn’t need to be told more than once. She probably reached the same conclusion as you half a second earlier. If she didn’t have a firm grip on your arm, she probably would have left you in the dust again. She darts forward with incredible speed, pulling you along behind.

The beast doesn’t leap again, having most likely learned from it’s earlier attempt, but instead goes for the more conventional approach of just running you down like a freight train. It’s no-doubt enormous paws beat against the ground in a stampede of brute force, rattling the teeth in your skull with each powerful step.

You suck in through your mouth, coarsely dragging the cold air down your throat and into your aching lungs. Tears spring to your eyes at the pain (or is it fear), but you blink them away quickly. You have a job to do at the moment, namely making sure that Miss Pyrope doesn’t run you through another thorn bush or off a cliff, and keeping an eye on the compass. You need to head south if you’re going to get out of the woods.

But maybe that isn’t such a good idea after all??? The only reason you’ve stayed alive as long as you had is because you and Miss Pyrope are much more nimble than the beast, slipping between the trees and bushes that cause your pursuer to slow it’s pace and change direction. It would be smart to stay where you have the advantage as opposed to trying to lose it on open ground, but then again you can’t run forever.

One good thing about this situation, at least, is that you know Jade isn’t in trouble. If the beast is chasing you, then it’s not chasing her and… well, at least _one_ person should get out of this alright.

“Left, down the slope!” You shout, eyes flicking down to the compass and then up again. Miss Pyrope changes course and then you find yourself on the verge of the grassy hill, leading down into Silverchurch. You hesitate, but Miss Pyrope doesn’t. You’re nearly ripped off your feet as she sprints down the hill, her fingers still holding you in a vice-like grip.

The beast follows, leaping through the trees and landing less than a few feet behind you. Had you been half a second slower, you probably would have been crushed a not-so-adorable pancake. Loose bits of dirt and grass shower down on your back as the ground shakes again and causes you to finally lose your already uneven footing. The whole world tilts sideways and you cry out as you abruptly slam into Miss Pyrope from behind (and not in the fun way).

She lets out a strangled squeal as well as you flatten her into the grass and tumble over her. Your vision flashes between dark sky and even darker earth, over and over again as you alternatively roll, bounce, and skip your way down into town.

There’s a sharp _crack_ as you eventually crash-land onto the hard, stone sidewalk and a jolt of pain races up your arm. Something’s probably broken. Grinding your teeth together in discomfort, you urge yourself to get up. There’s still a monster coming down behind you and just because you’ve made it within the town limits doesn’t mean that it’s about to give up. Before you can so much as prop yourself up on one arm, however, something large and rather bony flops down onto your back.

“Nice moves there, Charles Blondin.” Miss Pyrope sneers from her position atop you. “What’s your next trick going to be? Are you gonna push me down a hole? How about just whacking me over the head with a stick? That might work.”

“Shut up.” You groan, pushing her away. You cast a glance back up the hill as you climb to your feet, your little tumble did manage to put some distance between you and the monster, but this respite won’t last long. “Wh- What do we do now? This… this fucking- this _werewolf_ isn’t going to give up!”

“I’m working on that. For now we just need to keep moving.” Thrusting her hands into the air, Miss Pyrope waits expectantly for you to pull her upright. “Come on, John. You’ve made it this far. Don’t quit on me yet!”

“Four dollars.” You grumble under your breath. Taking her hands, you attempt to pull her up. However a miserable scream tears itself from your lips as she grips your left hand.

“Uh oh. That doesn’t sound good.” She frowns and gently prods at the fingers on your hand. “Does this hurt?”

“Yes! Yes, it really does!”

“You’ve broken some fingers, John.”

“No shit. Good golly molly, that hurts!” You cradle your injured hand gently. “I’m- I’m gonna pass out.”

“Shut up. You aren’t going to pass out. We just got to keep moving. Fetch me my cane, quickly!”

Her cane has fallen nearby and you gingerly move snatch it up with your good hand.

“Where?” You ask. You can practically feel the blood draining from your face, quicker by the second.

“Towards the center of town. We might find some help there.”

“R-right.” Who could possibly help you at this point, you don’t know. You don’t necessarily wish to drag anyone else into this mess who could possibly be killed either. Regardless, you’ve been out of ideas since this night began and you can feel your brain beginning to shut down from pure pain and confusion. You’ll have to trust Miss Pyrope.

There’s no time to think. You start running again.

The streets are completely deserted, as if there was no one even living in this town to begin with. You glance down alleys and side streets as you run awkwardly by your boss’s side. There isn’t a stray dog, night crow, or neighborhood cat in sight. Not even Larry, the town creep, can be found in the murky shadows cast down by the bulbous moon. It’s just you, Miss Pyrope, and the monster on your tail; the only people left in the world.

You have your first and only idea of the night as you finally reach the end of the street and end up on the verge of the grassy heart of Silverchurch. There’s no help to be found, which totally sucks. Hell, at this point, you’d even take Vriska’s assistance, as long as she got you and Miss Pyrope to safety. But alas, you’ve got to work with what you’ve got, and what you’ve got is sitting decrepitly about twenty yards ahead of you.

“Come on!” You urge, pulling Miss Pyrope sharply forward. “Just a bit further!”

“Just a bit further till what?! Where are you taking me?”

You don’t have the time, nor the breath to answer. Right now is the time for action. Together, you and the detective sprint across the muddy grass. The beast is still behind you, of course, having not lost sight or it’s determination to kill you on the road to this point.

That’s just too bad, you decide, this furry fucker is going to have to go hungry tonight, because this chase is pretty much over. With a final burst of speed, you close the distance between yourself and the front door of the silver church. You haven’t seen the building up close before and you feel it’s safe to say that your impression of it hasn’t changed much. The place still looks like a rundown, tarnished shithole, albeit, a shithole that will hopefully save your life.

You throw yourself against the front doors and they give, swinging open about half a foot before stopping abruptly. You look and see that the doors are fastened together from the inside by a shiny chain, about the only thing shiny about the silver church.

“Inside.” Your vision is beginning to swim as you shove Miss Pyrope towards the gap in the doors. She obediently begins to wiggle her way in, which fills you with an incredible sense of relief. Apparently she can tell the difference between the time to argue and the time to act. It doesn’t take long for her to slip through, thank goodness, as the beast is all but on top of you now.

The beast lets out a fierce snarl as it leaps once more, confident that there’s nowhere else for you to run. You do some leaping of your own though and thrust yourself at the space between the chained doors. Your head and shoulders clear the space, followed by your waist, it’s your legs that give you trouble though. Namely, the fact that the monster has sized your ankle in it’s powerful jaws.

“AAGGHHH!” You scream, clawing at the floorboards inside the church, as the beast attempts to drag you out once more into the night.

“John! Stop screwing around!” Miss Pyrope shrieks. She throws herself at you and grabs you by the coat, preventing you from being taken away. With a grunt, she reels backwards and you scrabble forward as a long, horrible _riiiiiiiipp_ tears it’s way through the air.  

That’s got to be your leg, coming right off in the monster’s mouth, a little appetizer for the main course. However, as you tumble into the church fully and once again knock Miss Pyrope to the ground, you realize quickly enough that you are, indeed, still in possession of both your legs.

A tremendous _boom_ rattles the entire church, and the doors buckle and groan as the beast throws itself against them over and over in an attempt to get to you. Miss Pyrope quickly bounces to her feet and you follow slowly.

“Nice work. Really stellar job.” Miss Pyrope twists her cane between her fingers. “Instead of letting it eat us outdoors, he’ll be able to enjoy us in the privacy of this holy hall. We are in the silver church aren’t we?”

“Y-yeah.” You gasp. Glancing down, you see that your pant leg has been ripped from the knee down to your shoe, exposing your sock and a good part of your shin. “Oh damn. These were my favorite pants.”

“Why did you wear your favorite pants on a stakeout?” The doors buckle again and the chain across them strains painfully. “Uh I don’t care- we’ll talk about it later. Why did you bring us in here, John?!”

“We’re being chased by a werewolf, right?” You quickly reason. The beast presses itself against the doors and stretches a clawed paw through the gap. You push Miss Pyrope further into the church a few steps. “And so I thought what are werewolves weak against? Then I remembered: this is a _silver_ church! Huh? Huh?”

“Oh, you complete idiot.” Miss Pyrope presses her palm to her forehead and sighs. “John, this church isn’t actually made out of _silver_. That’s just a name someone gave it a long time ago!”

“Aw man! You’ve got to be kidding me. Why??”

“Probably to attract tourists or something. Also, I never called this thing a _werewolf_ ; that was all you.”

“Fine. Okay. Who cares?” You eye the claws of the beast as it rips at the floorboards a few feet away, trying to snag something. “What do we do?”

“ _You_ stand there and try not to get hurt.” Miss Pyrope grips the top of her cane and twists, there’s a sharp _click_ and, to your complete amazement and awe, she unsheathes a hidden sword from within her trusty staff. “I’ll give our little friend a piece of my mind.”

“Oh god!” You clap your hands on either side of your face, brain struggling to come to terms with all that’s happening right now. “Please don’t die!”

“Shussh.” She hushes you for the umpteenth time. “You aren’t helping!”

With the poise and grace of an accomplished fencer, Miss Pyrope raises her sword, pricks her ears, and waits. You hold your breath, the monster continues to press against the doors of the church, wood begins to splinter, claws rake over the floorboards, and suddenly Miss Pyrope lunges sword-first. Her blade glints in the moonlight filtering in through the boarded-up windows for a moment, and then it disappears through the gap in the door.

There’s a feral, pitiful howl of pain and then the paw of the beast vanishes through the doors and out into the night. A long second of silence, which feels like an eternity, passes by and the creature does not reappear at the doors. Miss Pyrope stays in position though, cane sword dripping with dark red blood, head cocked to the side.

You realize then that your teeth have grown sore due to how hard you’re clenching them together. With a sigh, you slacken your jaw and feel all the tension drain from your body, as if someone pulled the plug up from an overflowing bathtub.

“See anything?” Miss Pyrope questions, still unmoving.

“Just my entire lift flashing by.” You don’t look for a chair; you just sink right down to the floor. “Wow. Just, wow.”

“Are you okay?”

“Are _you_?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” From her pocket, she produces a handkerchief and cleans her blade on it. “I just singlehandedly sent one of the devil’s dogs back where it came from. I feel like a hundred bucks!”

“Is that what that thing was? A demon?”

“I have my suspicions, nothing concrete yet though. If it was a demon, it probably would have snatched us up no problem. Most demons have teleportation and phasing powers. You wouldn’t catch a demon being stumped by a set of doors. Hehehe”

You cast about the inside of the church as Miss Pyrope finishes cleaning her sword and pieces her cane back together again, talking aloud all the while. A part of you wonders what sort of other tricks your employer has up her sleeves, another part hopes that you never have to find out.

The inside of the Silverchurch is a mess of cobwebs and moldy, splintered wood. A collection of pews have been stacked against the left wall and covered noncommittally with a dusty sheet, all of the windows are covered with slats of hastily nailed wood, and large portion of the floor is actually missing. You lean towards the hole slightly, trying to look inside.

It looks as if some giant fist has just punched it’s way up from below ground, leaving jagged floorboards and dried pieces of sod in it’s wake. It’s too dark to see below. Perhaps an earthquake or something rendered the church unserviceable? You’ve never found the interest to ask why the church was put out of commission before.

“There’s a big hole in the ground over here.” You inform Miss Pyrope, who’s still talking about one thing or another. “It’s in the middle of the floor so like- watch your step, or whatever.” You feel incredibly woozy. Maybe you should hold off on talking for a bit.

Miss Pyrope taps her reassembled cane against the ground and locates the hole. As she kneels to investigate, you drag your nose across your sleeve, wiping away some of the blood, and look around the church some more. The wall opposite the front doors is home to a large pipe organ. The instrument hasn’t been used in years, you can tell, but still the sight of the towering pipes puts you a little bit at ease, for some reason.

Like maybe the power of music has charms to soothe the savage beast or some shit. You resolve to buy a pocket harmonica the next chance you get. Maybe the wolf-demon that almost killed you tonight won’t come for you again if you play it a sweet tune.

“Hey,” You turn to Miss Pyrope. “Do you know if Dave sells harmonicas or some…”

She’s gone.

“Miss Pyrope? Miss Pyrope!” You jump to your feet and rush to the edge of the hole, where you last saw her, not caring as your head swims violently. Oh fuck. You’re such an idiot. Who in their right mind lets a blind woman play next to a massive hole in the ground like that? She must’ve fallen in! “Are you there, Miss Pyrope? Can you hear me?!”

“Shut up, will you? Gosh!” Comes her voice up from the darkness. “I’m fine. It’s perfectly safe down here, just a tunnel. I swear, if you’re not yelling about one thing you’re yelling about something else.”

“Whew.” You breathe a sigh of relief. She’s okay. “I’m coming down, alright?”

“No. Stay up there and keep watch. I’ll just be a minute.”

“But what if-“

“ _Stay_ up there!” She commands fiercely.

“Ugh. Fine.” You sit back away from the hole and rest your weight on your hands. A big mistake, as it turns out. A jolt of pain runs up your arm again and you yelp in pain.

Frowning, you examine the fingers on your left hand. Moving your ring and little finger is incredibly painful. Miss Pyrope was right: you did break a few fingers.

“Great.” You mumble. “Just great.”

Thinking quickly, you tear off a section of your pant leg (the poor thing was already ripped to shreds anyways) and warp your hand carefully, tying a knot around your wrist with your teeth. It’s not much of a bandage, but it’ll stop your fingers from moving around too much. As you work a chilly draft blows across your shoulders.

You pay it no mind however, being used to the cold by now. You’ve just finished binding your hand together when an unfamiliar voice speaks from somewhere behind you.

Man, you’re really tired of things sneaking up on you.

“Are you a burglar?” A feminine voice lazily asks.

“Uh.” You turn your head, confused. “I’m sorry?”

There, floating a few inches from the dusty floorboards, is a shimmering, silvery specter. The ghost is indeed feminine, with a skirt as flowing and long as her hair is wild and unkempt. She stares at you with wide, expressionless eyes the color of milk and asks her question again, as if she was doing no more than wondering the conditions of the weather.

“Are you a burglar?” She repeats. “If you are, I’m afraid there’s nothing left to steal. The snobbish one has already taken everything.”

“Whaaaa…”

You pass out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big shout out to [superethanworld](http://tmblr.co/mKpYemf4ug86JZf2xmAXkjQ) for exchangingin some soul-crushing [JohnRose sadstuck](http://mlp-mike.tumblr.com/post/126796507055/sadstuck-johnrose)[](http://tmblr.co/mKpYemf4ug86JZf2xmAXkjQ) with me recently. It’s pretty beautiful, but careful, fore it is not for the faint of heart. If you want to read the JohnRose sadstuck I replied with, you can find it [here](http://superethanworld.tumblr.com/post/126859392873/mlp-mike-so-yeah-johnrose-sadstuck-i-know-that)[](http://tmblr.co/mKpYemf4ug86JZf2xmAXkjQ).
> 
> Thanks for reading. This story is still coming :)  
> \- Mike


	11. Down the Rabbit Hole

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Reveille for commenting.

=> Be John Egbert

You are John Egbert. Which means that you were at one point having an incredibly bizarre nightmare. It was so vivid, almost like it was actually happening. You and Miss Pyrope were running through the woods together, being chased by a terrible, wolfish beast! It had almost gotten you a couple times, but luckily you’d had been able to pull a fast one on it, like Houdini’s slippery ghost.

Speaking of ghosts, what happened after the terrifying chase was paramount to pure ridiculousness. Vaguely, you recall escaping from the monster by hiding in the silver church and then there had been this hole in the ground, an old as shit pipe organ, and of course... the spooky ghost.

At the moment, you’re laying flat on your back, the cold and unyielding surface of the floor pressing up into your sore shoulder blades.  Your head is absolutely killing you, pulsating with the worse headache you’ve ever felt, as if someone has stuck a fork in the side of your head and stabbed deep enough to scratch at your very brain. What’s worse is that you’re pretty sure sleeping on the floor like this is going to give you serious back troubles later in life, and that’s the last thing you need.

A gentle voice pierces your hazy veil of pain like a dull axe, only worsening your headache.

“Doo wop. Doobie doo wop.  Doo wop do waahh. Blue days, black niiiiiights. Doo wop, do wahhhh...”

The rest of the song fades away above you.

Miss Pyrope must have been taking some singing lesions behind your back, or perhaps she’s having a concert on the roof?? You wouldn’t put it past her, the little devil. You decide you’ll finally give her a piece of your mind later; you’re more than a bit upset that you weren’t invited to her concert.

Opening your eyes, you fully expect to see the crisscrossing rafters that support the ceiling of your office back at four-thirteen. Instead you’re greeted by the high arches of a church, and floating among the arches, is none other than the silvery apparition from your dream.

It all comes back to you quickly. The events of the past few hours have not been a stress-induced fever dream, but real life things that, against all odds, have actually happened. You’re currently in the silver church, Miss Pyrope has disappeared below ground to do god knows what, and- fuck. You think you’re going to cry.

The ghost hums lazily to itself- er, _herself_ , as the specter is most decidedly feminine in nature. Every once and a while, words will come from her mouth, actual song lyrics, before descending back into incoherent hums, as if she’s trying to sing a song who’s words she’s long-since forgotten. You must let out a little whimper, or sniffle, or something else horribly un-masculine, since she suddenly notices you and stops singing.

“I’m sorry. Did I wake you?” She drifts lazily down from the sky, her voice a perfect monotone. “I thought you’d never wake up.”

“I- I…” You stammer.

“You look distraught. Are you afraid?” She asks, as if she won’t be troubled either way.

Words are a little beyond you at the moment, so you just settle for a feverish nod. Perhaps your brutal honesty will win her over? For the first time, the ghost smiles and you can’t tell if that’s a good thing or not. She could be smiling because she’s friendly, but then she could also be smiling at the total beating she’s about to give you with, like, a ghost baseball bat or something.

Whatever her reasoning would be behind giving you a beating, you have no idea. Maybe for breaking into her ghost home and passing out on the floor. Whatever her sinister plan is though, you just hope she gets it over with soon.

God you’re so tired.

“It’s funny.” She alights, half an inch above the floor by your side. “I’d think that you’d be less afraid in _here_. All the real monsters are outside, after all.”

“Y-yeah.”

“But then again.” The ghost continues, musing. “This old place has a few monsters of it’s own, doesn’t it? Everywhere does.”

With some difficulty, you push yourself into the sitting position, careful to keep your broken hand cradled against your gut. You would need a sheet of paper a mile long to list all the places on your body that hurt, but fortunately no such paper exists, you haven’t got the time or energy to write so much. Instead, you settle for closing your eyes briefly and letting out a low moan.

The ghost watches you.

“Are you… being metaphorical with me right now?” You wonder. “Or are there actually monsters in here?” She responds by gesturing silently to herself. “Oh. I see. Well, in that case, I think I’ll be going now.”

You attempt to rise, but your wobbly legs protest vehemently. It’s when you’ve gotten yourself onto a half-kneel that you feel yourself beginning to tip over onto your side, like a bicycle that’s been left without it’s kickstand. The ghost reaches out to steady you, which you think is a little weird, but you accept it quickly as her fingers dig into your shoulder and keep you upright.

“I wouldn’t move just yet.” As quickly as she had grabbed you, her hand retreats. “You’re obviously in shock. If you try to leave now you’ll only hurt yourself more.”

“How did you do that?” You’re looking warily at where her fingers made contact with your coat. “I mean, ghosts aren’t supposed to be able to touch things, right?”

“It takes some effort, but…” She reaches out and presses her palm against your chest, shoving you back onto your tail bone painfully. “Oops sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

“It’s fine, really.” You wince. “Just… how about we don’t touch from now on?” She raises a ghostly eyebrow. “It’s not you! I mean, not entirely. It’s just- strangers and stuff. Personal distance.”

“You really are out of sorts, aren’t you?” Folding her legs, the phantom curls in the air and rests her chin idly in her hands. “People don’t typically react this way when they see me.”

“How do they react?”

“As you could probably imagine. Usually there’s a lot of screaming and calling the town priest to conduct a cleansing of evil spirits. _That’s_ always interesting to watch. If I had to make a guess right now though, I’d say that you’re going to fully process this in about five minutes, and then that’s when the screaming will start.”

“I’m actually feeling a little better now. “ And you do. The more you talk to this ghost lady, the slower your heart races. It’s currently no longer attempting to punch it’s way out of your chest. Maybe it’s the way she’s acting or your muddled brain, but you don’t think she’s going to attack you any time soon. “What’s your name?”

The ghost gives you a blank stare.

“Er- what do I call you?” You try again.

“Does it matter?”

“Of course it matters! Exchanging names is the first step on the road to friendship!” You offer her your hand. “And I’ve never been friends with a ghost before. My name’s John. I’m new.”

The ghost takes your hand and grips it firmly. It’s an odd experience, shaking hands with a ghost, a little bit like grabbing a rubber glove full of ice water.

“You can call me Aradia, since that’s what’s written on my tombstone. I don’t identify very much with that name however. It belonged to… the _old_ me.”

“The you that was alive?”

“In some ways.”

“You enjoy being cryptic, don’t you?”

“On occasion. In this particular situation though, things are simply just too complicated to explain. Being dead has it’s perks, John, one of which is an abundant amount of time for introspection. I’ve learned more about myself as a ghost than I ever did as a person.”

“You’re still a person!” You argue, already taking a liking to Aradia the ghost. “You’re just… different.”

Aradia shakes her head.

“You’re different.” She says. “Terezi Pyrope is different. I am something else entirely, and not ashamed. What’s the point in being afraid of who you are when nobody cares in the first place?”

“Oh man!” Only part of what she said registered with you. “Miss Pyrope! In all this excitement, I completely forgot about her. She went down into that hole ages ago.”

You indicate the hole in question. Nothing about the dark space has changed, although now that you’ve noticed your boss is yet to return the blackness below seems infinitely more sinister and threatening. If something happened to Miss Pyrope while you were up here napping and chilling with ghosts you… you don’t know what you’d do.

 “Uhm, Aradia.” You rub the back of your neck. “You wouldn’t happen to know what’s down there, would you?”

Aradia regards the hole disdainfully, as if the missing pieces of floorboard somehow offend her personally.

“The snooty-looking man with his fancy clothes and pretentious attitude goes down there often, hiding secrets, plotting, committing evils. I would not go down there if I were… dammit, are you even listening to me?”

You’ve already clambered to your feet and gingerly approached the edge of the chasm. From a few feet away, the hole appears to stretch down to the very center of the earth, but upon closer inspection, you can see that there is a steep slope that runs directly beneath the church, incredibly steep, but a slope nonetheless. You could traverse it easily if you had a grappling hook, or if you were Miss Pyrope and just didn’t give two shits.

Jumping headfirst into god knows what, honestly, what is wrong with that woman?

“I’ve got to go down there.” You proclaim, the quiver in your voice not quite matching the steadiness of your resolve. “If you’re telling the truth, then Miss Pyrope could have accidentally walked into something really nasty. She really should be back by now too. She _told_ me that she’d be back.”

“I only know what I’ve heard.” Aradia floats by your side. “I’ve never been down there myself. I cannot leave the confines of this church.”

“Are you sure? I mean, have you ever tried?”

“Well, no. I’ve never tried before, why would I ever want to?”

“Because there’s lots of stuff out there to do besides hang out in this dusty old church all the time. How do you know that you can’t leave if you’ve never even tried?”

“I just know, alright? Those are the ghost rules.”

“Sounds like bullshit to me.” You squat down near the edge and gingerly begin the arduous process of lowering yourself below ground. Every bone in your body creaks dangerously as you bend and twist, gripping the floorboards as your shoes scrabble at the dirt wall of tunnel, trying to find purchase. “I could- umph- really use your help.” You grumble, ridiculously teetering half above and half below ground.

“What could I possibly do to assist you?” Aradia folds her arms and watches you with disinterest. “Also: why?”

“You could help me because, in all honesty, I have no clue what the hell I’m doing.” You gasp. “Also you and I are pretty much frieeEEEEEEEEEENNNNDDDDSSS!!”

The last word of that sentence turns into a startled shout, as your arms suddenly decide to give out and you find yourself sliding backwards into darkness. The hole in the church floor turns quickly into a small disc of moonlight as you speed away down the bumpiest, roughest, least-fun slide that you’ve ever had the pleasure of riding.

All too soon, and with incredibly painful results, the slope abruptly shits to flat ground and you find yourself sprawled out on the hard dirt floor of a subterranean cave. Now that you think about it, you probably should have looked around the church for some rope or something, anything that you could use to lower yourself down gently.

Oh well. You know what they say, hindsight is twenty-twenty.

You probably won’t be able to go up the same way you came down. Hopefully you’ll find Miss Pyrope soon. Being trapped alone below ground is definitely on your list of least favorite things to do.

“That was impressive. Are you an athlete or something?” Propping yourself up on your elbows, you look to see Aradia drifting down the tunnel after you. “Or perhaps you’re just naturally graceful?”

“I can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic or not.” You respond honestly.

“Here’s a hint: I’m definitely being sarcastic.”

“Oh.” Groaning, you climb to your feet and dust yourself off. “Look at this though: you’re outside the church! I guess you aren’t bound to one specific location like you thought you were. Ghost rules really _are_ bullshit.”

“Apparently so.” Aradia looks away from you and further into the cave. “The tunnel leads that way.”

“How can you tell?” You squint into the shadows. “I can’t see a thing down here.”

And you can’t. Aradia’s the only thing giving off a bit off light, and that’s only her ghostly aura. Down here, you’re pretty much as blind as Miss Pyrope, minus the years and years of training dedicated to navigating the world without sight. You’re screwed unless you drum up a light source quick.

“I have ghost night vision.” Aradia explains simply. “Sometimes when I’m bored, I’ll look out the church window and watch the townsfolk from afar. They all really are pathetic people.”

“Hey! Some of those pathetic townsfolk are my friends.”

“Friends.” She repeats. “Like… me?”

You’ve begun rummaging through Miss Pyrope’s bag again, still luckily hanging from your shoulder, but you look up to cast a quick glance at Aradia. She doesn’t look bashful or embarrassed or even all that interested. If you had to label her as anything, you’d say that she’s just casually curious about the state of your relationship.

Apparently she had heard your scream as you tumbled away into the unknown.

“Yeah, you’re my friend too.” You find what you’re looking for: the raggedy matchbook. “And I’m yours. We’re all friends.”

“I haven’t had friends in a long while.” She informs you.

“Well you can’t say that anymore!” With a flick, you illuminate the cave. The tiny match struggles feebly, an orange star amidst a sea of black. “Come on. I want to find Miss Pyrope and get out of here as soon as possible.”

“Sure.”

Together, you and Aradia set off, following the path of the tunnel. The ground is flat and smooth, while the walls and ceiling are sharply curved and composed of jagged rocks and the tail ends of long roots, probably belonging to trees  two dozen yards above your head. Someone or _someone’s_ have obviously taken quite a bit of time and care to prepare this secret tunnel and the further you travel it’s length, the more you begin to think that you might be in over your head. This thing is a real piece of work!

“So, Aradia.” You have to pause to light another match. “You’ve been up in that church for a long while, right?”

“Time is an arbitrary invention that no long matters to me, in the grand scheme of things.”

 “Uh- I’ll take that as a _yes_.  So then you must have seen the guys who made this tunnel. Was it that snooty fellow you keep mentioning?”

“As a matter of fact,” Aradia scowls. “It was. The pompous fool spent many months excavating under the church, making a terrible racket. He owns the land, of course, so no one ever came to put an end to his little project.”

“Eridan.” You mutter.

“Is that his name? Seems fitting. He comes through the church a few times a week. Like I said, I’ve never been down here before, but he sure does waste a lot of time doing whatever it is he does, dark magic most likely.”

“All of this information really would have come in handy like five minutes ago.”

“You didn’t ask before.”

“Yeah, but…” Your second match flickers out and you quickly fumble for another. “I shouldn’t have to ask! I’d hope that you’d just share relevant information like that when I’m about to go exploring mysterious caverns and stuff.”

“Excuse me for not reading the situation well enough for your liking. I don’t exactly strike up conversation with people that often.”

“Have you ever talked to Eridan?”

“Of course not. Why would I? I’ve seen him come and go enough to know that he and I wouldn’t jive well. I feel the same about all the other Silverchurch-ians. I only talked to you tonight because you looked about as close to death as possible when you and Terezi Pyrope stumbled through my doors.”

“You know Miss Pyrope though?” You recall Aradia mentioning her by name earlier.

“I know of her.” Aradia shrugs her ghost shoulders. “ _Everyone_ knows of her.”

You press the hand not in charge of your match to your forehead, cradling the poor throbbing mass of confusion and pain. Your headache is getting worse and you seem to be no closer towards the end of this tunnel, or anything for that matter. Out of everything in the world you could wish for at the moment, more than anything else you just want to sleep, mull everything over, and talk to Miss Pyrope about… well, everything.

“First murders and monsters, then seers and stakeouts, and now ghosts and secret tunnels! I don’t know how much more I can take, Aradia. I really don’t.” You drag your hand down your face, stretching the skin. “Blech. I just want it all to be over. I just want to turn a corner and see an exit and- OOOFFF!”

You walk nose-first into flat, stone wall and rebound like a basketball, staggering backwards into Aradia, who catches you in her frigid arms. The purple mess that was once your nose begins to ooze blood once more.

“You were saying?” Prods Aradia, dryly.

Raising the match over your head, you adjust your glasses back on your nose and investigate the new obstacle. You have, quite coincidentally, indeed reached a corner in the path. A right turn, as sharp as a knife, is the only way forward now. Quickly, with a stubborn glimmer of hope still riding in your chest, you follow the new path with Aradia hot on your trail.

The darkness begins to fade, the ground begins to slope downward once more, but you’re too intrigued to fully notice. Suddenly, to your great surprise and pleasure, the tunnel explodes outwards into an underground cavern, larger than the silver church you left behind up above.

You come to a slow halt at the end of the tunnel. It takes a second for your eyes to adjust to the sudden presence of light, but you don’t have time to wait. Your eyes are blown wide in an attempt to take in everything you can lay your eyes on. The match you’re still holding burns down to a crisp and singes your fingers, but you scarcely care now. You simply drop it to ground and look to Aradia. The ghost is floating by your side, scanning the room as well.

“So, what did you say about Eridan and dark magic?” You ask.

The cavern is home to what can only be described as Tesla’s laboratory crossed with the sanctum sanctorum. The walls are lined with aging books and candelabras, whilst the center of the room is home to many steel tables laden with all sorts of scientific equipment. A large, wiry antenna, positioned above a bulky plinth, stretches up towards the ceiling and seems to vibrate with an electric charge. A lightning rod, perhaps? There isn’t a skylight to the surface that you can see, so what Eridan could possibly be using that for is currently beyond you.

Aradia sighs.

“You know, I didn’t actually believe Eridan practiced dark magic. That was- like, a poor attempt at a joke.” She admits, then mutters under her breath: “An underground lab, _honestly_.”

Smooth stone steps lead from the mouth of the tunnel down to the cavern floor and you descend as quietly as possible, despite you and Aradia apparently being only people- er… _souls_ in the place. Something about the laboratory, a particular aura maybe, urges you to tread lightly and avoid making too much noise, like maybe a shrewd librarian will jump out from behind one of those cabinets and _shush_ you for being too loud.

“Do you know what any of this stuff is?” You ask, examining a large flask resting on a workbench, bubbling with some purplish solution.

“These books are written in gnomish.” Aradia answers, scrutinizing a few books on one of the nearby shelves.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Gnomish is an ancient language created by the scholarly gnomes of the thirteenth century. I used to be able to read it.” She frowns, white eyes growing more unfocused, if such a thing is even possible. “Used to…”

“Well there’s no harm in trying to read it again, huh?” You abandon the workbench and join Aradia. A large, leather-bound book with strange symbols written down the spine catches your eye and you point to it. “What does that say?”

Aradia holds her face close, mere inches from the book’s spine.

“Woodland…” She begins deciphering with some difficulty. “Woodland h-herbs and… Aquatic-“

“Aquatic spices to counteract impotency. Ha!” A certain someone finishes from your side. You wheel to see a pair of angry red sunglasses standing uncomfortably close. “Not the type of book you’d like sitting out on your coffee table. Hehehe.”

“Miss Pyrope!” You screech, flinching away in surprise. “For fuck’s sake! Stop sneaking up on me like that. I’m half dead already.”

“Oh, a few more grey hairs won’t do you any harm. Hehe” Your employer grins and swiftly reaches up to scratch at your scalp. “What are you doing down here, John. I told you to wait up in the church.”

“You didn’t come back!” You angrily swipe her hand away. “I had no idea what you were doing. You could have walked right into a trap!”

“I’m mildly flattered by your concern.” Drawls Miss Pyrope with a tone that clearly insinuates otherwise. She turns her attention back to the bookshelf and runs her fingers up and down the spine of another book. “But there’s no need to worry that unusually large head of yours. As always, I’ve got everything one hundred and ten percent within grasp. We’ll have to address that hero complex of yours later though, my dear assistant. It’s _bound_ to get you into trouble one of these days. Who’s your new friend?”

You splutter for a second, caught between arguing with this ridiculous woman and demanding that she answer some of your long-wondered questions. Eventually, it’s your subordinate nature that wins out.

“This is Aradia. She’s a ghost.” You introduce glumly. “Aradia meet Miss Pyrope. She’s a real jerk.”

“A ghost?” Miss Pyrope snaps away from the books quick enough to stir up a small breeze. “You don’t say.”

“It’s true. I exist in the realm between realms.” Aradia speaks likes she’s reading from a cue card. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Terezi Pyrope.”

“Come here, you lovely creature. Let me get a feel for you.” With a grin nearing uncomfortable levels of pleasure, Miss Pyrope extends both her hands as if trying to preserve a pool of water. Aradia ponders for a moment, and then dutifully places one of her own hands in the detective’s palms. “Ha! Amazing. A true level seven ghost!” Miss Pyrope gently turns Aradia’s hand over and over in hers. “A spirit composed of pure ectoplasm, encased in a malleable shell of ethereal energy. Oh the stories you can probably tell. How old are you, may I ask?”

“Time is an arbitrary invention…”

“Booooo.” Jeers Miss Pyrope sourly, releasing Aradia. “You’re one of _those_ ghosts, huh?”

“Not so fun being on the receiving end of all that cryptic mumbo jumbo, is it?” You can’t help but elbow the detective in the ribs gently. Miss Pyrope shoots you a glare, missing by a few inches.

“It simply doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things.” Explains Aradia simply.

“It matters to me!” Argues your employer.

“I’ve lived in the silver church for too long to remember, before you ever arrived on the scene, detective. I’ve picked up tales about your exploits and I have no desire to become another one of your _projects_.”

“Someone’s got a chip on their ghost shoulder.” Miss Pyrope sneers. She twirls her cane like a baton and marches away towards the center of the room, motioning for you to follow. “If I had known what kind of night this was going to turn out to be, I’d have packed a lunch. Sheesh! To think, I’ve combed every inch of this town looking for things worth my interest and the last place I would have ever thought to look, the lame-ass silver church, is actually a veritable gold mine! A secret underground laboratory and a ghost living upstairs! Ha! What do you think, John?”

“Um. About what, Miss?” You question.

“’ _About what, Miss’_ He says!” Miss Pyrope cackles. “About _everything_ , you dunce. While you’ve been screwing around with the undead, I’ve been doing my actual job. You know, investigating?? I’ve drawn up a rough conclusion, something I’ll have to explore later, but I’m interested to hear what you’re thinking. So what’s tickling your brain there, mister?”

You take a moment to wrack your brains as Miss Pyrope moves about the room, poking at this and that, and waiting for you to answer. Aradia has chosen to remain over by the books and is attempting to decipher some of their meanings, so you won’t be getting any help there.

“That’s a good question.” You eventually non-answer. “I mean, it certainly seems like it all has to fit in somehow. The murders and the monster, then this lab. What if…”

“What if?” Miss Pyrope urges.

“What if Eridan is our culprit! What if he was experimenting on himself and accidentally mutated himself into some type of wolf-man. Then, every night he transforms, loses control, and just starts murdering people. Miss Pyrope, we have to help him!”

The edges of Miss Pyrope’s lips quirk in opposite directions, causing her mouth to look remarkably like a sideways letter ‘s’.

“John.” She says. “That has got to be the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“What do you mean? It makes sense, right?”

“Not in the slightest.” Aradia chimes in from across the room.

You feel heat beginning to rise in your cheeks, creeping up your ears.

“Well excuse me for speaking my mind.” You snap. “You asked what I thought and I told you. It makes sense to me. It would explain why no one has seen beast during day time and why it just came out of nowhere.”

“Yes but it’s honestly the most ridiculous theory I’ve ever heard about anything.” Miss Pyrope pats you on the shoulder. “It’s alright. If everyone was a super detective, then there’d be no assistants. I appreciate your input, but I’m looking for something a little more practical, more blatant. What are some of your observations?”

You scan the room, frustrated, tired, and pained. Tonight has been so thoroughly shitty, you can scarcely muster the energy to care anymore. With a grunt, you wave at the largest object in the room.

“There’s a lightning rod or something right over there.” You indicate. “Is that blatant enough for you?”

“Indeed.” Miss Pyrope taps her cane towards the center of the room and locates the base of the antennae-like structure. “It’s definitely mechanical and it definitely runs off electricity, but a lightning rod this is not.”

Despite yourself, you’re still pretty interested to watch the detective work. She walks around the large pedestal that the antennae is mounted on, feeling it’s smooth surface with her fingers. It’s as she feels along the side nearest to the door that she finds it: a small trap door fitted into the side of the large box.

“Screwdriver please.” She extends her hand in your direction and, after a moment of searching through her bag, you pass her the requested tool.

With nimble fingers, she slots the tip of the screwdriver under the edge of the small door and flips it open. Inside is a console, that much you can easily tell, which folds out on a small tray. Knobs, switches, little gauges, and even a keyboard from a typewriter are attatached to the machine like some sort of control station.

“What is it?” You ask.

“Some sort of control station, you idiot.”

Miss Pyrope runs her finger over one of the gauges, taps randomly at a few keys, and then cranes her neck as if examining at the antenna that stretches up towards the distant ceiling.

“But other than that… I don’t know.” She eventually mutters. “Draw a sketch, would you?”

“Er- of course.”

You pull a notebook and pen from Miss Pyrope’s bag and take a seat on the floor as she marches away again, her smile gone. Something about this machine gave her the creeps, you can tell. How she got such an impression by just fooling around like she did, you’ll never know, but you’re inclined to trust her intuition.

You better draw the machine and it’s accompanying control panel quickly. The sooner you get out of here, the better. If whatever this is makes _her_ uncomfortable, you can only imagine what it would do to a normal person.

“Alright, Miss Pyrope.” You draw the final lines of your sketch. “I’m all done now.”

“Good work.” She smiles and cracks her knuckles. “Now, I say that’s enough snooping around mysterious caves for one night. What do you say? Wanna head back to the house and compile our evidence?”

“Sure! As long as that beast isn’t waiting for us as soon as we step foot outside.”

“Check your watch.” She commands. You do so and see that it is well past seven-o-clock in the morning. You’ve been out and about the entire night. “I’d say we’re safe now. Whatever that thing was, it’s gone home hungry with it’s tail between it’s legs and a nice reminder not to screw with us. Ha!” She jabs her cane in the air for emphasis. “Come, John. On your feet.”

You jump up and stand with Miss Pyrope in the center of the room.

“Heh, so uh- how do we get out of here? I don’t think we can go back up the tunnel through the church.”

“Not without a grappling hook.” She agrees.

“Have no fear, warm bodies.” Aradia calls from her position over by the bookcase. She grabs one book in particular, a slender green tome, and pulls it from the shelf. The whole display swings open like a door, revealing a secret passage. “I think I may have found the back door.”

“A secret passage behind the bookcase.” You grin. “Aradia, you’re a genius!”

The ghost smiles.

“I’m a little surprised that you didn’t think to look here, detective.” Aradia comments, as the three of you enter the passage. You’re sure the pull the bookcase closed behind you. Hopefully if Eridan comes back he won’t be able to tell that a single soul has passed through.

Miss Pyrope heaves an exasperated sigh.

“I didn’t look behind the bookcase because I was nearly positive that _no one_ would be stupid enough to make use of that cliché. Unfortunately, I momentarily forgot who we were dealing with.” She explains. “Let’s just hope he doesn’t have anything else like that up his sleeve.”

“Oh I wouldn’t speak just yet, Miss Pyrope.” You add. “I saw the eyes of a painting move just a few minutes ago.”

“Har har.”

The passage leads down a hallway, up a spiral staircase for what feels like miles and eventually to a second door. After a bit of shoving, you all find yourselves mercifully above ground, albeit on the far outskirts of Silverchurch. Apparently Eridan had seen fit to build a secret entrance to his base amidst the rocky cliffs overlooking Jade’s tower, which funnily enough, is where you started last night’s events in the first place.

You’re too tired to appreciate the irony.

“I don’t think I’ll be traveling with you any further.” Aradia says, hovering just inside the passage and out of the early morning sunlight. “I don’t think many people would take too kindly to a ghost floating through the streets at this hour… or any hour for that matter.”

“You don’t have to stay below ground though, or in that shitty church.” You respond. “You told me that it doesn’t matter to you what people think. So why not just come with us?”

“Because we need her in the church.” Miss Pyrope states firmly, before Aradia can respond. “We’ll need to know if Eridan returns to his lab. If you see him pass through then…” The detective thinks for a moment. “Then ring the church bell! We’ll know what it means.”

“And what will you do then?” Questions Aradia.

“I don’t know. But hopefully by then I’ll have figured everything out.”

“I see.”

“Good.” Miss Pyrope fires a finger gun through Aradia’s chest. “Now get going. We’ll touch base with you soon enough, our ghostly pal.”

“Alright. Farewell, John.”

“Bye, Aradia!” You wave, even though she has already turned and floated away back towards the lab without so much as a second look. Oh well. Baby steps. You suppose that everyone, even the undead, need some time to mull things over. “What a friendly ghost.”

“A friendly ghost indeed.” Miss Pyrope snakes her arm through yours. “Now let’s get going. There’s much to do and I don’t know about you, but I need a nap! Hehehe.”

“Yeah. I agree.” You sigh and begin the trek back into town.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The majestic [uforin](http://tmblr.co/m4bjPKLuWSP8Ijs67jxKfCA), being the badass that they are, drew some [delicious fanart](http://uforin.tumblr.com/post/126896985295/oh-look-i-did-some-fanart-for-a-pretty-cool) of this story that I would turn into a book cover if this warranted becoming a book. Grateful times, my friends :)
> 
> Thanks for reading.  
> \- Mike


	12. Things Get Weird

=> Be John Egbert

You are now John Egbert. Which means that you can officially add _‘feel an overwhelming sense of relief at the sight front door’_ to the list of things that you at some point in the past didn’t think were possible. The obnoxiously red-painted front door leading to Miss Pyrope’s apartment at four-thirteen greets you with open arms, like an adoring mother would welcome their wayward child home.

Whistling a merry tune to herself, Miss Pyrope skips up the front steps and begins unfastening the multitude of locks with numerous keys from her coat.  If you could say anything about the detective, it’s that she takes home security very seriously.

She talks over her shoulder at you as she works:

“We’ve got a lot to do, John, a _whole_ lot to do. You’re going to have to put a pot of coffee on the stove first, then clear some space in the living room. It’s high time you and I got down to the nitty-gritty of everything.”

“I already thought we were fuck-deep in the grit.” You groan. “Also, I thought we agreed that a nap was in order?”

“I changed my mind.” With the final lock undone, she throws the door open and storms inside. “I feel like we’re only but a few breaths away from blowing this whole thing right open! Hahaha!”

You follow her inside, numbness eclipsing the desire to argue. Her constantly shifting mind frame is just too difficult to follow for common folk such as yourself. You just have to hold on for the ride. It’s what you’re being paid to do after all. 

The strength in your legs lasts you over the threshold, the few couple wobbly seconds required to shut the door behind you, and a grand total of two steps down the hall before you stagger into the wall and slump to the ground. You knock over a table and vase combo on the way down, but you’re too exhausted to care. The vase doesn’t even break anyways, but instead bounces off the floor like it’s made of rubber and tumbles away towards the kitchen.

Screw this crazy house.

You’ll get up and back to work in a second. You just need a moment to rest. It took everything for you to keep pace with Miss Pyrope on the walk back into town. With your energy reserves gone, you’ll need a second to recharge and the floor is as good a place to chill as any.

The weights hanging from your eyelids drift heavily towards the ground, encompassing you in darkness. Just a few minutes is all you need, just enough to rest your tired bones. Then you’ll be ready to help your boss blow this case wide open, off it’s fucking hinges, so that there’s nothing left but this gaping doorway of truth and justice and…

“John?”

It’s a miracle that you open your eyes. Miss Pyrope’s head is protruding from her office, poking out into the hall and cocked in your direction. Her mouth is drawn up in to a thin, slashing frown and her eyebrows are closely knit together. If you had to wager, you’d say that she looked a little bit concerned.

“Wasssip?” You manage

“Are you alright?” She asks.

You bob your head twice, then remember.

“Yess…”

She doesn’t seem convinced. She steps out into the hall and makes her way over to you. In the short time you’ve been in the house, she’s already shed her coat, dumped her cane, and kicked off her shoes. You imagine that she was already sitting behind her desk, pulling notes together, when she finally realized that you were absent.

“What’s the matter with you?” She demands, crouching by your side. A stiff finger gets jabbed into your shoulder and you swipe at it, but she’s too quick. “What’s with all this lying about? We’ve got to move quickly before someone else dies, you lazy bones.”

“I know. I know.” Your glasses slip towards the end of your nose, causing the world to go blurry. “I just… rest.”

She goes silent for a moment, simply observing you, and it’s enough for you to drift off again. You dream that you’re grappling with something, a monster with needles on it’s fingers and metal poles instead of arms. It’s pulling at your clothes and hair, slapping you this way and that, and no matter what you do, it’s impossible to escape. It’s a real shit dream, honestly.

“Stop struggling. You’re making this harder than it has to be!” Miss Pyrope growls somewhere in the distance. “Come on. Up you go.”

The ground shifts and rotates, and suddenly you’re airborne. Your eyes flutter open to see Miss Pyrope’s scraggly mess of hair tucked under your arm and your feet dragging below, as hers struggle to propel you forward.

“You don’t look very heavy – ugh, but I suppose density plays a big factor in that.” She complains.

“You’re dense.”

“Oooh. Good one. I’ll have to write that one down for later.” The scenery changes as you move from the hallway to the sitting room. “Bit of advice too, don’t backtalk the lady that’s dragging your sorry ass around. I could toss you in the fireplace and no one would ever know.”

“Mhmm.”

Her grip on you changes and suddenly two fists jab you in the back, shoving you forward, off your feet, and into a face full of rather firm pillows. On instinct, you roll onto your side to prevent suffocation and blearily look towards the heavens. Miss Pyrope is standing above you, hands on her hips and her lips quirked in contemplation. You stare into the red lenses of her sunglasses for several long heartbeats and wish that she’d take them off.

“What are you doing?”

You barely register that you’re reaching for her, left arm stretching painfully upwards to swipe at her face like a cat batting at a piece of string. She seizes your wrist to prevent you from slapping her.

“John.” She commands, gripping you tightly. “Snap out of it. You’re acting like a child.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m dying.”

“Shut up.”

“I’ve been poisoned.”

“You haven’t been poisoned.” She affirms sternly. “You’re just… crashing, all the adrenaline’s gone; you’re probably about to be in a world of pain pretty soon. Which hand is the broken one?”

“Umm, the right one- GAAHH!” You barely manage to get the words out before she grabs you by the fingers and the whole world goes white with agony. All you feel is pressure and pain and then nothing as you’re swallowed up by the eternal abyss.

You probably spend more time unconscious these days than not.

***

When you awaken next, there are shadows creeping up the walls and a horribly sour smell overwhelming the usual, damp mold tang that typically lingers in Miss Pyrope’s home. You’re still lying on the lumpy divan, albeit in a much more comfortable position, with hard pillows propped behind your back and scratchy blanket thrown haphazardly across your lower half.

Someone has taken your pants.

“Have a nice rest?” Turning your head, you find Miss Pyrope lounging in an armchair by your side. A large tome reading _Tales of Suspense_ down it’s spine rests in her lap, as she runs her fingers across the page. “I most certainly didn’t. It’s hard to sleep when there’s a good chance that your assistant is probably dying.”

“I thought you said I wasn’t dying.” You croak, throat painfully hoarse.

She takes her time responding, licking a long finger then turning a page.

“I didn’t know… for sure.” She eventually says, thinking carefully.

“I thought you knew everything.”

“And I never said that.” With one hand she reaches past your line of view, behind your head, and retrieves a cup from the end table. “Drink this slowly. If you choke to death now, I’ll pull my goddamn hair out.”

“Pssh.” You snort and do as your told, taking tiny sips from the cup. The water soothes your throat far better than you could have possibly hoped and you think that you’re in love. Shadows dance on the wall in front of you and you crane your neck to see that it’s snowing out the window. You look to Miss Pyrope. “How are you reading that?”

“It’s in Braille.” She turns another page. “Rose always goes out of her way to order a few books for me.”

“That’s nice of her.”

“Yeah, I appreciate it. Stuff in Braille is a little hard to come by, and the only other library in town is run by Sicko Larry and you don’t want to read any of _those_ books.” The tip of her tongue pokes out in disgust. “Just… just don’t.”

“Noted.”

Sighing contentedly, you settle back onto to the pillows and balance the cup of water on your belly. Your broken hand has been bound with fresh bandages to a splint and, as you shift to get comfortable, you feel a rough, cloth bandage cinched around your midriff. Miss Pyrope had taken it upon herself to give you a bit of complimentary nursing, which is nice, except you notice that she neglected to tend to your busted-ass face.

Congealed blood cracks and wrinkles as you curl your lip and a jolt of pain causes you to gasp when you try wiggling your nose.

“What’s wrong?” Miss Pyrope asks quickly.

“Ah, nothing.” You gingerly dab at your face with your good hand. “I’m just a little sore, is all.”

“I can imagine. You’re mostly bruises and scrapes at the moment, held together by scabs and cotton.” Her book momentarily sits forgotten in her lap, as she sits motionless, face pointed at the wall above your head. She exhales and frowns severely. “I’m sorry, John.”

“What for?”

“For a lot of stuff. Putting you in danger, pushing you too hard, leaving you alone, not noticing when you were quite obviously struggling.” She plays with a loose sting on the armrest of her chair. “I was so caught up in the excitement, the rush of it all, that I didn’t really give you a second thought. You paid the price for my selfishness and I, you know, apologize and stuff… with words.” The string gets pulled taut. “Apology words.”

“Hey, we both got our licks.” You gesture towards the scratch across her face, caused by a thorn bush, but now freshly bandaged and clean. “You just happen to be a little quicker on your feet. Also, if I recall, you totally saved both of our asses with that sweet cane sword. So I’d say we’re square.”

“Mmmmm.” She hums. “That was a pretty sweet move, wasn’t it?”

“So smooth!” You chuckle. Your nose complains again painfully as you laugh and this time Miss Pyrope catches onto your sharp intake of breath.

“Something is still bothering you.” She decides, leaning forward.

“Uh, yeah. I think my nose might be broken too.” You admit eventually. It’s terribly painful, but you don’t want to bother her any further if you can help it.

“Hold on one sec.” She commands, then jumps swiftly from her chair and out of the room, sending her book tumbling down to the carpet. You hear furious rummaging from across the hall and half a second later she returns with a large, leather doctor’s bag swinging from her hand.

“Isn’t there an actual doctor we could call?” You ask, eyeing the sinister case warily.

“Oh of course! Then we could pay the doctor with all our unlimited moneys!” She drops the bag heavily on your chest. “Don’t start complaining now, you ungrateful jerk. I’ve already patched you up this much, haven’t I?”

“I suppose…” It’s too late to argue. She’s already plucked your glasses from your face, folded them neatly, and stuck them in your shirt pocket. With a touch far lighter than you expected, she explores the tender area that used to be your nose.

“Oh wow. This poor thing’s been beaten all the fuck up.” She whistles lowly, impressed, blowing cool air across your neck. You shiver, although the cold isn’t much of a bother. “Stop wriggling around for a moment.”

Opening the case, she gets to work, wetting a rag and then cleaning the area before applying disinfectant, and an adhesive bandage. She finishes by giving you a sharp slap on the cheek and smiling wickedly.

“There, good as new. You’re beautiful baby face shall forever remain the perfect image of youth and beauty.” She smirks.

“I could have done that myself, you know.” You murmur, investigating the medical dressings with your fingers. “I mean, I appreciate it a lot! But you didn’t have to do all that.”

“And listen to you bitch and moan for the rest of the eternity? Yeah, I’ll pass on that.” Miss Pyrope begins re-packing her doctor’s bag. “I’d rather spend a few seconds playing doctor, and besides, it’s the least I could do.”

Feeling a whole lot better, you relax back onto the pillows once more. Despite the snow gently falling outside and the overall drafty nature of this god-forsaken house, you’re surprising warm and content in your current position. Perhaps it’s the pleasant and oddly doting way Miss Pyrope’s been treating you, or the simple fact that you’re finally off your feet and out of danger, or most disturbing of all, the comfortable weight of Miss Pyrope’s arm as she supports herself, leaning over you to place the final pieces of equipment in her bag.

Before you can stop yourself, your good hand reaches up and deftly tucks a few stray locks of hair behind her small ear. She freezes like a statue, as do you, your hand drifting to be caught somewhere between the nape of her neck and her earlobe.

She crooks her head, like a canary investigating a particularly interesting sound.

“Another magic trick, Egbert?” Miss Pyrope purrs. “What’s it this time? Going to pull a coin from behind my ear?”

“No.” Your comeback game is sorely lacking. “Why do you cut your own hair?”

You’ve been meaning to ask the question before, but had never really found the right time. Right now though, as you’re running your fingers through her dry bristles, encountering some brutal knots, you think it’s relevant. As your hand inches higher to invade her scalp, she stiffens further, but doesn’t make any move to stop you.

“Not many people welcome me into their business with open arms.” She explains. “Least of all the town barber, Mr. Biscuits, whose daughter married a cock and moved away to Alaska.”

“Mr. Biscuits is mad at you because his daughter married a douchebag?”

“No, not _that_ kind of cock. I’m talking about a rooster. She literally married a rooster.”

“Wow.” You twirl some of her hair around your finger and unwind it again, repeating the motion several times. “What’s that have to do with you though?”

“Well, I officiated the marriage, of course! Hehe!” Miss Pyrope smiles, whether at the pleasant memory of her story or the way you’re playing with her tresses, you can’t tell.”Yeah, Mr. Biscuits won’t come near me with a pair of scissors. Unless it’s to slit my throat, obviously.”

“That sucks. I’m sorry.”

“It’s whatever. I’m used to it.” She’s resting her elbows on your chest fully now, chin balanced on her hands as she leans forward off her armchair and towards you. At the moment, you could almost say that Miss Pyrope looks pretty comfortable as well, simply allowing you to fuss over her for a change.

“Is this weird?” You ask, fingers still dancing in her mane.

“Only if you make it weird.”

You sort of want to put your glasses back on to read her expression, but with one hand lying broken by your side, and another otherwise occupied, it’s rather impossible. As it turns out though, your glasses quickly become irrelevant, as she leans further out of her chair, putting more weight onto your chest, and shifting into focus as she draws nearer.

“Are you going to make this weird, John?” She asks, no longer smiling. You don’t really know what she means by that and you aren’t about to ask either. You’re too preoccupied, watching the way her lips move as she speaks, gazing at your own reflection in those ruby-red glasses, and- fuck, when did she get all those freckles? She didn’t have all those before, did she? It’s like a tiny honeybee flew over and dusted the bridge of her nose with tiny dots, pollinating her face like a flower.

That’s truly the most bizarrely romantic thing you’ve ever conceived.

“N- no.” You finally answer her question. “I don’t want things to be weird. I- er, I want…”

“What do you want?”

That’s a good question, one that you’d rather die than answer truthfully. In all honesty, you sort of have the unquenchable urge to close the final few inches between you two and kiss her right on those damn lips of hers. That would shut her up for a little bit.

“Are you seducing me?” You ask, forcing a chuckle. “Because I’m afraid that you’re going to have to try harder than-“

She kisses you then.

It’s quick, more like a brief smushing of lips together than anything else, and it’s over just as swiftly as it begun. You barely have a chance to register the feeling, the taste, before she’s shifted away again. You reach for her, more on instinct than anything else, and manage to get a grip on the collar of her shirt. For a second, which stretches on into eternity, the pair of you are locked in an awkward half-embrace, you pushing yourself up from the sofa and her teetering on the edge of her chair.

Things really could go either way from this point. You call let her go, fall back onto your makeshift bed and forget the whole thing happened. Same for her. She could easily brush away your hand, stand up, and walk out of the room, dismissing you from her employ with a curt goodbye tossed over her shoulder.

 Instead, she smirks and says:

“I’m sorry. Were you saying something? I couldn’t hear it over all of that painfully obvious desperation wafting off of you like steam.”

“Wh- What are you talking about? I’m not desperate!”

“The thirst is strong in you, John Egbert.” She shakes her head. “It’s sad, really.”

“You kissed me!”

“Pitiful.” She continues, unabashed. “Are you really _that_ starved for affection?”

With a groan, you throw yourself away from her, falling back onto the sofa and burying your face in one of the pillows. You can hear her shrill laughter through the fabric and your face burns with the heat of a thousand suns. It’s a miracle that you don’t burn the whole damn house down.

“Hehehehe.” Miss Pyrope giggles. “Get yourself together and meet me in my office in five, Romeo. In case you’ve forgotten, we’ve actually got some work to get done. Ha!” She slaps you sharply on the back of the head as she rises from her chair and skips from the room.

You pretend not to hear her. You’re too busy attempting to smother yourself.

* * *

Along with all-but sewing you back together, Miss Pyrope has left you a change of clothes on the nearby coffee table. You dress yourself stiffly and without worry of being walked in on midway to becoming decent. It’s not as if you’ve got any dignity left anyways. Also your only housemate is blind so who gives a fuck.

Your knee brace has been stashed at the end of the sofa, but you leave it off for now. That thing is a bitch to put on and your knee has swollen up quite a bit from all the excitement of the previous day. You’ll be fine moving about the house, just as long as you aren’t expected to run any marathons.

Miss Pyrope is waiting for you in her office. Her desk and chair have been pushed out of the way against the far wall and a large, wooden box the shape of a wardrobe now occupies the majority of the floor, laid flat on it’s back.

“Since you were asleep for most of the day, I had to set up shop in here.” She begins talking as soon as you cross the threshold. “There’s not as much room as I would like, but I think it’s enough to get the job done. Draw that curtain over the doorway, will you?”

A heavy, dark sheet hangs on a rack across the top of the doorframe and you pull it across the entry way. Without the light from the hall, the office is nearly cast into complete darkness. The only source of light being a small candle sitting on the corner of Miss Pyrope’s desk.

“What is this thing?” You ask, approaching the large box warily. For all you know it could be full of man-eating scarabs, or perhaps even a Dracula or something equally sinister.

“This, my luscious love interest, is the package that was delivered to me on your very first day on the job. A friend of mine overseas had it built for me as a gift.” She runs her fingers delicately over the smooth surface, grinning hungrily. “He’s a skilled inventor, that Zahhak, a true visionary when he isn’t being a goddamn freak of nature. This baby is the only one of it’s kind and you and I will be the first to use it!”

You’re immensely intrigued. Amazing technological inventions, brought into existence before their time, have always been a marvel to you. Take the great stage production _‘Con Sea’_ , for example. It’s a grandiose tale about a rough-around-the-edges rogue, with an indisputable heart of gold, who kicks some major ass on a trans-atlantic ship full of dastardly convicts. The show was panned by pretty much everyone, save for you. One day though, the sheeple will understand.

“What is it though?” You ask again.

“See for yourself.”

Miss Pyrope motions for you to undo the latches keeping the lid shut and together, the pair of you pull apart the top of the box to reveal that inside is a whole bunch of bullshit that you have little- to no clue what any of it is. The whole thing is packed with a thick layer of straw and separated into compartments with slats of wood, the smallest section being home to a variety of tiny instruments and the largest: an immense machine that appears to be a hodgepodge of scientific equipment and mechanical doohickeys.

“Yeah, this still isn’t doing it for me.” You admit dryly. “What are we going to use this for?”

“To bust this case wide-open, just like I said. This is the future of crime-solving, John. We can use this machine to chemically test substances to find out what makes them what they are. Have you ever heard of Deoxyribonucleic Acid, or DNA?”

“Um, yeah. I may have read about it somewhere.” A boring-looking scientific journal at the library comes to mind.

“Well that shit is in all of us, you and me, cats and dogs, even plants have DNA in them. It’s unique to everybody too, like a fingerprint, except super small and inside of you.” Miss Pyrope crosses to her desk and quickly retrieves a few miscellaneous items. She holds them out to you. “Do you remember these?”

In her hands are two pieces of bone. You recognize one as the piece Miss Pyrope took from Mr. Rosewater ‘s body at his pub, and the other as the one she found near Jade’s tower in Bec’s droppings. You shiver at the memory.

“I think I get where you’re going with this.” You gently push her hands away, careful not to touch the shit bone, or hell, either bone for that matter. “You want to use this machine to see if the DNA in each of the bones matches, right?”

“Precisely!”

“And if they match then… then I guess Bec really _did_ kill Mr. Rosewater!” You groan. “Oh man, what if you were right? What if he’s been our culprit all along!?”

“Then we’ll march up to Jade’s tower and put him down ourselves.” Miss Pyrope answers solemnly, then adds: “But then again, maybe not. You see, the buck doesn’t stop there. After last night, I’m all but positive that someone has been pulling the strings, a certain someone who happens to have a secret laboratory under the silver church, someone who has something to gain from killing not just Mr. Rosewater, but Mrs. Brooks too, someone who no doubt is planning another murder at this very moment!”

“Eridan.” You growl. “That sonovabitch!”

You haven’t trusted that pompous asshole since day one, his secret lab didn’t do much to help his image either, and now that Miss Pyrope is saying all this stuff, you wouldn’t mind giving him an old fashion knuckle sandwich! With gusto, you and Miss Pyrope begin unpacking the DNA machine, speaking quickly all the while.

“You saw that crazy laboratory he has down there.” She says, throwing packing straw into the air. “It’s my guess that he’s been working some sick magic behind closed doors and has recently found a way to conduct his evil agenda, all from afar.”

“You’re saying that he’s- he’s like… _mind-controlling_ Bec to eat people?!” It’s preposterous really, but the way Miss Pyrope smiles knowingly causes you to assume that you’re on the right track.

“All signs are pointing towards that conclusion.” The machine rises from it’s housing on a set of steel legs and Miss Pyrope begins fiddling with it excitedly. “The antenna in his cave, a transmitter that he can use to broadcast his commands. A brainwashing spell such as that would definitely cause some mutations to occur in Bec, changing his size and shape, probably even his eye color. Then there’s Jade’s strange behavior, all an attempt to cover up Bec’s midnight activities in order to save his skin. And finally the murder of two upstanding Silverchurch citizens and business owners, a plot to increase Eridan’s own stores of wealth by driving our town’s economy into the gutter!”

“Is that what this is all about? Money?”

“We’ll find out once he’s brought to justice. Now hush, this is going to take some serious work. When I say so, you’ll need to extinguish that candle. It’s important that no light whatsoever reaches this sensitive equipment once it’s been activated.” Miss Pyrope readies the machine, flipping open a pair of compartments and setting each of the bone fragments in their respective places. “The results will be printed out from here.” She indicates a slot on the back. “There’s a self-adjusting printing press inside. Whenever you’re ready, John.”

 At her command, you extinguish the candle and cast the office into darkness. There’s some light _tinkling_ noises as Miss Pyrope works. You hear a metallic _hiss_ , the grinding of glass as a bottle is opened, and several loud clicks. The anticipation is killing you and, paired with the darkness, is causing you to shift nervously off to the side. You need to speak.

“So this whole time, you’ve been working all this out in your head, piecing together clues, drawing conclusions.” You whisper into the darkness, as if you’ll disturb her work by talking too loud. “And you never told me any of it.”

“You were on a need-to-know basis, I’m afraid.” She hisses back. “Would it have made you feel any better if I had told you?”

“Yeah. Yeah, it would have. We could have… helped Jade, told her what was going on. We could have saved her _a lot_ of trouble.”

“As awesome and well-thought-out as my theory is, we won’t know for sure until this test here is done. Once we’ve got our case all nice and wrapped up like a present on christmas morning, we’ll notify the relevant parties. Until then, this stays between us. It’s better that way.”

You allow the silence to creep back in as she continues to work. The thought of Jade, alone and afraid, having to cover up Bec’s strange behavior to prevent him from being labeled as some kind of rabid beast causes your skin to crawl. It must be driving her mad.

She was probably out last night looking for Bec in the woods. It’s too bad Bec found you and Miss Pyrope first.

You need to get your mind off this horrible subject.

“Did you, erm- _enjoy_ kissing me?” You break the silence again.

Miss Pyrope doesn’t answer for a tense few seconds.

“I thought we agreed that you weren’t going to make things weird.” She says.

“I don’t want to.” The terms of that agreement are dubious at best anyways. “I’m just curious as to…”

“As to if there will be anymore detective-kissing days in your future?” Miss Pyrope snickers. “You can turn the light on now.”

You light the candle with a match from the desk drawer. The room flickers back into color just as Miss Pyrope’s machine gives a low _whirr_ and spits out a small document the size of a dollar bill from the rear slot, typed in Braille of course.

“I just want to know if you were, like, just fucking with me like you always do or… I dunno.” You rub the back of your neck as she examines the slip of paper.

“They match.” Miss Pyrope says, seemingly ignoring you. “The DNA in these bones is a one hundred percent match. Bec ate Mr. Rosewater and shit him out on the lawn.” She folds the paper neatly and slips it into her pant’s pocket. “Ain’t that a pleasant thought? Hehehe.”

“Miss Pyrope-“

“There’s one more test I need to run though before we can be certain about everything.” She crosses to the desk again and snatches up a folded handkerchief resting there, horribly stained with a dark red liquid that you quickly realize is blood. “As I’m sure you remember, I was forced to perform a bit of self-defense last night. This blood, wiped clean from my sweet cane sword, belongs to the beast.”

“Listen, I-“

“Whatever magic Eridan is using will taint the blood while the subject is being possessed. That’s what powers them to do things, after all. It’s all simple blood magic; you’ll catch on to stuff like this soon enough, John.” She crosses back to the machine and replaces the bone fragments with the handkerchief. “I’ll be able to find out for sure if there’s anything that can be done for Jade’s four-legged friend, perhaps even if there’s a way to reverse his transformations!”

“Hey!”

“What dammit?!?” She whirls on you after you shout. “Can’t you see that this is important?!”

“I know that this is important. I- I just…” You steel yourself. It’s important that you get this out and over with. “Before we go any further I need you to give me an honest answer.”

“About what, John?”

“About that kiss that literally happened like thirty minutes ago!” You want to scream at the top of your lungs. “You can’t just do that and pretend like it didn’t happen!”

Miss Pyrope lip quirks in that adorable- NO!  Not adorable, horribly infuriating, disgusting, maddening way! You refuse to be controlled by her unconventional feminine wiles.

Her hand comes up to brush away some of her wild bangs, the same messy locks that you fondled not too long ago, and a heavy sigh drifts between you.

“Don’t do this, John.” She says. “Don’t make me regret it, okay? I get that you’re the weird type of person that does stuff like this, you know, with emotions and whatever, but reel it back in a bit for me. There’s work to be done right now, but afterwards…” She trails off, bites the inside of her cheek, then turns back to her work. “Afterwards… we’ll talk about it- or something.”

You stare at her slim shoulders, admiring/disapproving of the way she holds herself: perfectly upright, like she’s got steel rods running along her spine. It’s impressive and commanding and professional, everything that you aren’t.

She’s right after all. There is work to be done and you are being super weird. You’ll swallow whatever it is your holding right now and cough it up again later when the time is right. You’ll do as you’re told.

You don’t have to be happy about it though.

“Turn of the light.” She commands, as she presses a button on her machine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly think that romance is one of the hardest things to right, and I’m not just saying that because it’s something i struggle with lol The people out there who can write really good, convincing romance, should be treasured as the valuable people that they are, because damn, it’s rough. A big issue about it, is probably that romance is a pretty subjective concept, i think. A lot like humor. What you think is funny, someone else might not think is funny at all. Same with romance. What is romantic? Why am I asking you? I suppose you’re just in the wrong place at the right time, pal.
> 
> Thanks for reading. I’ve loved you for a thousand years, I’ll love you for a thousand more.  
> \- Mike


	13. The Ringing of the Bell

=> Be John Egbert

You are John Egbert. Which means that this case is literally being blown the fuck open, split like a coconut so that all of it’s delicious, secret-revealing meat is laid bare for all to see.

Or at least that’s the plan.

As soon as you extinguish the candle for a second time, Miss Pyrope gets to work with her fancy-smancy, high-falutin, hoity-toity DNA machine. You lean gingerly against the edge of her desk, trying to get comfortable while every inch of your body continues to ache and groan from one type of bruise or another. You really should see a doctor, an _actual_ doctor before you actually just fall to pieces.

You’re just contemplating whether there actually _is_ a doctor in Silverchurch, when Miss Pyrope suddenly gasps:

“Uh oh.”

“What?” You ask.

Then the machine explodes.

Well, perhaps that’s a bit dramatic. There’s definitely a flash of light, a few flickering flames, and a fuck-ton of smoke, but you aren’t exactly knocked off of your feet. Miss Pyrope, who is the closest to the activity, swears loudly as the surface of her workspace glows a brilliant orange, as if being super-heated over a hot stove.

You rush forward and quickly pull her away from the machine as it sparks angrily and spews acrid smoke into the office.

“What’s happening?” You ask, eyeing the horrible, spluttering monstrosity wearily.

“Some kind of reaction, obviously.” She snarls. You notice that the fringes of her hair are smoking slightly. “Dammit! I should have guessed that magic blood wouldn’t react well to being tampered with! Quick, John. You have to get the sample out of the machine before it’s destroyed!”

“Oh, man. I think it’s a little too late for that, Miss Pyrope.” You watch as the machine burns and folds in on itself like melted plastic. “Whatever was in that blood turned your DNA machine into mashed potatoes.”

The light given off by the burning heap fades quickly and you’re once against cast into darkness. You fumble for the candle as Miss Pyrope moves away from you. When you strike a match, you see that she is standing over the machine and investigating it, a little forlornly.

“Equius is gonna be pissed.” She surmises.

“Do you think he can make another one?”

“Psshh. I’ll be lucky if he loans me ten dollars after this!” She gives the smoldering mess a swift kick, then wheels on you, teeth gnashing. “This is all _your_ fault, Egbert!”

“My fault?!?”

“Yeah! All that mushy talk about kissing and affection you were babbling about, it was too distracting! It got under my skin!” She gestures about the room.  “Now look. My new toy is trashed, the house smells like burnt shit, and you’re too adorably oblivious to even care!”

“I- I’m so confused about what’s happening!” You gesture swiftly between her and yourself. “Are you actually mad at me or is this like a flirting thing? I’m pretty sure you just called me adorable.”

“Shut up. Gosh! You’ve got me all out of sorts.” She throws her hands in the air and stalks from the room, angrily ripping the curtain off the doorframe on her way out. “Clean this shit up and meet me in the sitting room. God-damn stupid what the hell was I thinking ugly magic blood cod-walloping hooligan…”

The rest of her furious, if nonsensical, rant trails off as she disappears across the hall and you breathe a sigh of relief. Apparently she’s just as confused about this whole _debacle_ that the pair of you have found yourselves in as you are. Honestly, that silly kiss earlier could not have come at a much worse time.

The machine was large and unwieldy to begin with, but now that it’s a smoking, twisted wreck, that’s slowly dripping some kind of glowing liquid onto the floorboards, you think that moving it will be pretty much impossible. You have to try though. Miss Pyrope gave you and order and you’re still her assistant.

Plus this will give you some time apart, during which you’ll both have an opportunity to cool off, hopefully. The last thing you need is for your relationship status to be shunted back to day one because of an argument. You’ve come too far for that.

You decide that the trolley leaning against the wall in the upstairs hallway would be useful. The word _‘trolley’_ being used liberally in this situation, as Miss Pyrope built the thing herself with a sheet of wood and several wheels stolen from a shopping cart at Tavros’s shop. Apparently she uses the trolley for daring, high-speed pursuits, although you doubt it’s very useful unless you’re traveling wholly downhill.

She’s sitting in her armchair, smoking another cigarette, when you enter the sitting room and cross towards the stairs.

“Put that arm in a sling.” She barks after you. “And don’t overexert yourself. I don’t very much feel like taping you together again… asshole.” She adds under her breath.

You do as you’re told and afterwards- maneuver the trolley down the stairs to her office, where with some pushing, tugging, and more than a few kicks, you manage to get what’s left of the DNA machine aboard. It’s cooled off quite a bit by now, which is nice, although the black scorch marks and mysterious liquid left behind on the floor is less so.

You’ll take a mop to that latter.

The machine, a product of months (probably years) of hard work and innovation, gets dumped in the alley between four-thirteen and four-twelve with the rest of the garbage. You pause before re-entering the house, choosing to give the fantastical device a final farewell and a moment of silence.

Miss Pyrope is still in the sitting room, smoking, but also musing over the slip of paper given to you before the DNA machine called the quits, all-but confirming Bec’s involvement with Mr. Rosewater’s murder and the detective’s convoluted theory.

You lean in the doorway and admir- _watch_ her, but like, in a totally not creepy way.

“Why don’t you take a sketch? It’ll last longer.” She drawls.

You chuckle.

“Speaking of sketches, why do you have me draw things all the time? It’s not like you can ever see them.” The amount of time you spent recreating the paw prints of Jane’s back and the mind-controlling antennae in Eridan’s subterranean cave seem like wasted time in hind-sight.

“You can always describe it to me, can’t you? Also, it keeps you busy and out of my hair for a few precious minutes.” Miss Pyrope blows a perfect smoke ring in your direction, definitely on purpose. “Did you finish cleaning my office? I can still smell the disappointment wafting in from across the hall.”

“I was just about to start mopping, but I wanted to check in first.”

“What an exemplarity assistant, checking up on little old me. I’ll be sure to write _‘satisfactory’_ next to your name when your evaluation comes up.”

Ignoring that comment, you cross the room and sink onto the divan opposite her. She tracks your movements with the pointed tip of her nose.

“I want to know what happens next.” You press. “Do we take our evidence to Vriska and the police? Do we tell Jade? Do we go after Eridan ourselves?”

“Weeell…” Miss Pyrope takes her time answering, snubbing her cigarette in an ashtray precariously balanced on the arm of her chair. “I’d prefer leaving the upstanding law enforcement squad from Rainbow Falls out of it. If I know anything about my dear friend, Serket, she’ll sooner put a bullet between Bec’s eyes than listen to any of what I’ve got to say. I’d rather avoid that. Also, Jade is a bit of a conundrum too.”

“How so? If we explain to her what’s happening, she won’t be confused any more. She’ll help us!”

“Possibly, but also allow me to offer two other alternatives. For one, Jade could charge off to take care of Eridan herself, distraught, angry, unprepared, and outclassed, and in the end we’d just left with another body to clean up.” Miss Pyrope pulls another cigarette from her breast pocket, but you deftly reach out and slip it from her fingers before it reaches her lips. She frowns, but continues: “Or two, Jade could shoot us both dead on the spot.”

You gasp loudly.

“What?! Jade wouldn’t do that!”

“Your confidence in your friends is infuriatingly endearing, but alas, never underestimate what someone will do for love.” She rubs at her temple. “It’s the world’s sickest joke.”

“Jade wouldn’t kill us over her dog. No one likes their pet _that_ much.”

“Bec’s a good dog.” Miss Pyrope responds with a shrug. She looks incredibly tired all the sudden. “Best friend.”

You mull over her words. Could Miss Pyrope be right? Could your options really be narrowed down to handling Eridan yourselves? No offense to Miss Pyrope, who has proven herself to beyond capable over and over again, but the pair of you will totally get trounced going up against a dark magician with a brain-washed hell hound at his command. You’re barely half-alive as it is!

“You’re wrong about Jade.” You affirm. “She’ll undersand if we talk to her.”

“Maybe, but we can’t take that risk. I can’t.” She rubs at her eyes under her glasses. “Besides, I think the choice is going to be taken out of our hands pretty soon regardless.”

“What do you mean?”

She looks towards the north, through the wall of her home and all the way towards the center of town.

“Our church bells are ringing.”

* * *

=> Be Jade Harley

You are suddenly Jade Harley.

Must be the season of the witch!

 “Alright, Bec. Come on!” You motion for your loyal animal companion to follow you, injecting as much energy and excitement into your voice and gestures as you can. (when you want him to listen to you, this is typically the way to get things done. when you’re excited, _he’s_ excited too.) “Just a little bit further, boy!”

You’d been playing with him down by the lake again, blowing off some steam and catching the occasional minnow for your fish tank, but play time is over now. Snow started falling about an hour ago and as fun as that is, you’re not prepared for that type of whether currently. Also the sun is getting low again and everything rides on you getting this big furry mutt back up to your tower.

He whines and prods at your elbow with his snout from behind.

“Aw what’s the matter? Wanna play some more?” You ask, still urging him forward. He pants in response. “Well we can’t, duuude. It’s getting late and I’m tired. We have to get you fed and… you know, all cozy-ed up for the night!”

You chew your nails as you walk, a gross habit you started only a handful of days ago, and eye the setting sun as it sinisterly ducks behind the distant mountains. Bec follows, attune to your anxiety, but beautifully oblivious to the source, limping slightly due to the thick, cotton bandage wrapped around his dog-shoulder (or whatever you call that part of a dog where it’s leg meets the rest of it’s body).

When he’d come limping back home earlier this morning, covered in dirt and blood and chewing on half of a torn pant leg, you’d realized that there was no more fooling yourself. His midnight disappearances weren’t sleepwalking, midnight jogs, or anything else that could be passed off as understandable dog behavior or just simple restlessness.

No. It’s something much more disturbing that has to be stopped, and you’re going to stop it, before someone else does.

“Here we are, sir, your _accommodations_.” You give a bow, like a concierge having just delivered an esteemed hotel guest to their room. However, the guest in this case is a dog and the room is actually a series of heavy chains bolted firmly to the rear of your tower in the backyard. “Oh don’t give me that look.”

Bec sets his big, emerald eyes on you and lets out a low whimper. He’s used to sleeping inside, at the foot of your bed, where he takes up most of the floor and occasionally kicks over a bookcase or two in his sleep.

“This is for your own good.” You explain, as you begin fastening the chains one by one to a heavy, steel collar that latches around his neck. “It’ll be just like camping out! You like sleeping under the stars, don’t you?”

The final chain hooks onto his collar with a resounding _clink_ and not a moment too soon either. The shadows that have been stretching lazily towards the east swallow up the last of the light entirely and the stars, which have been peeking through the clouds like goose feathers through a low thread-count pillow sheet, flesh themselves out; infinite freckles across midnight skin.

Bec tries to turn around and get comfortable, but the chains restrict his movement and complain loudly by rattling against the stone bricks of your tower. You think you’re going to cry.

“Just relax, Bec. You’re such a good boy.” You brush some snow from his flank as he settles, a little awkwardly on the grass. You’ll have to cover him with a blanket to keep him warm. “I’m going to stay out here with you tonight.” You decide, as if you hadn’t already been heavily considering that since you set up this torture device. “It’ll be the raddest camp out ever. Just give me a second, I’ll be right back!”

You dash away then and through the back door of your tower, tracking mud through the impeccable kitchen on your boots. Your poor grandfather would probably have a heart attack if he saw that, but you’re in too much of a hurry to worry about that.

Also he’s dead.

You’re sure to give his face, recreated without fault in solid bronze and resting on a marble pedestal, a quick pat on the cheek as you brush by up the stairs. The bust had been a gift from a crew of foreign craftsmen on the day of his funeral. You’d never seen the craftsmen until that day and haven’t seen them since, but you’ll always remember their stony expressions and the silver, solitary tear that they collectively shed as they handed you the heavy, wrapped present.

Your grandfather sure did cast his “friendship net” far and wide, capturing more souls then he could probably count. You only hope to rival a fraction of that number one day.

For now though, there’s only one friend you have to worry about and he’s waiting for you outside.

You grab your coat,  a bundle of heavy blankets, some pillows, a lantern, and your current book: _The Elegant Universe: Superstrings, Hidden Dimensions, and the Quest for the Ultimate Theory_ (which is just about as fascinating as it sounds) before heading back downstairs to the kitchen, snatching a few apples for the road as you pass through. You’re picturing a lovely evening involving you and Bec, lounging on the frosted grass in the fresh night air together, with a lap full of book and a belly full of fruit, when you step outside again.

“Alright, boy.” You throw your blankets and pillows down onto the ground and dust your hands on your long skirt. “This slumber party is officially started! I usually don’t let you eat apples, since the seeds contain cyanide, but I think tonight’s a pretty special occasion so… Hey, what’s wrong?”

Bec is curled up against the base of the tower, pressing himself into the ground in order to make himself as flat as possible, as if he might disappear amongst the well-manicured lawn. He’s shivering too, which is mildly understandable due to the cold nature of the Silverchurch nights, but the way he’s shaking is just a little too violent to be chalked up to a case of the chills.

The book splits open as it hits the ground and your apples roll away down the hill as you descend upon your dear friend, grabbing either side of his massive maw to hold him steady in your hands.

“You’re burning up.” And he is. Despite the cold, steam is practically rolling off of him. “Fuck- dammit, just relax, okay? I’m here for you, Bec. We’re going to get through this together!”

You try to sound bright and hopeful, but panic is swirling around in your chest, bouncing off your ribcage and pummeling your heart like a speed bag. It happens quicker than your brain can process, yet a part of you knows what’s happening- the dark roots of his fur gradually creep upwards, swallowing his usual snow-white pelt and replacing it with a disgusting, oily black. The bandages wrapped around his wound stretch and snap, while you retreat away on instinct. It’s best to be out of range for this next part.

Bec’s jaw opens wide and he howls towards the moon as he thrashes against his chains. His paws, typically well-kept, sprout claws of monstrous proportions and dig deep into the soil as he propels himself upward from the ground, straining the metal currently attempting to hold him in place.

The eyes go last, turning from brilliant green to a grey clouds, then finally hardening into the angry red glare of a demon, straight from hell’s depths themselves.

“Uh- good boy?” You question, slowly raising your hand to touch him. He recoils violently, as if you’re brandishing a flaming-hot poker at him instead of the literal hand that feeds him. You worry that you’re scaring him and quickly stammer: “It- it’s okay… you’re safe. Just relax, Bec. You’re being such a good dog right now, you know that- EEEEEEEEEEE!!!”

You squeal in surprise as he suddenly throws himself forward, powerful haunches punching into the ground like pistons and launching him into the sky. The chains stretch to their limit and snap hard, putting your handiwork to the ultimate test. Metal screeches painfully and there’s a clap like thunder as a crack, nearly ten feet long, races up the wall of your tower, then the chains rip themselves from the wall in a shower of dust.

“Bec!” You tumble backwards, blinded by the spray of loose stone and powder. It’s a stroke of luck that you land amongst your discarded pillows instead of onto the hard ground, but the flash of silver that blazes past and cracks you on the head is impossible to avoid. “AAAHHH!!!?!” You scream in pain and a little bit of confusion, throwing your arms up to protect yourself.

Bec is twisting and turning furiously nearby, trying to dislodge the collar around his neck, but instead only managing to whip the chains back and forth through the air. You’ve already been well acquainted with one of those swinging tethers already and you don’t plan on getting hit again anytime soon. Things have gotten pretty grim out of nowhere, but it’s nothing that you can’t handle. You just have to get a grip on him before he…

“Bec? Wait, Bec. NO!” Without giving you a second thought, he abandons his attempts to escape his collar and instead chooses to bound away down the hill. “Come back!”

But it’s no use. You’re left behind in the dust as he races down towards the edge of town, trailing steaks of silver behind him as he goes.

“Dammit to hell.” You grunt, staggering quickly to your feet. Gently, you tap at your head and wince when you find a welt the size of a small house growing on your scalp. That dog is going to be grounded for the rest of his dog-life once this is over.

Gritting your teeth, you race back into your tower and up the stairs.

* * *

=> Be John Egbert

You are back to being John Egbert. Which means that you’re really starting to feel the pressure here. It’s like all the egregious crap that you’ve been through these past few days has piled up and up and up to this moment, where the fragile bones holding it upright are beginning to wobble and bend. It won’t be long now until it all comes tumbling down around your ears, during such time you think you’ll be able to breathe a sigh of relief, knowing that it’s finally over and that you’re hopefully safe and alive.

Miss Pyrope leads the charge through the twilight streets at a tempo which could be called _‘speed-walking’_ if such a thing had been invented yet. You struggle to keep pace, which isn’t unusual, but is now made all the more apparent by the pained, limping gait you’re attempting to hold up. It’s not pretty, but the time for rest and recovery came and went faster than you would have liked and now it’s back to work. You can only hope that your body will keep it’s shit together as long as you need it.

Snow is still lightly falling from the heavens like autumn leaves, leaving a lovely, if slippery, blanket of white atop every surface unable to shrug it off. Silverchurch could actually be pretty picturesque, if it wasn’t so damn weird, you think, as you admire some snow collected on the windowsill of a nearby apartment.

“We need to make a stop.” Miss Pyrope announces, coming to a halt near a street corner. “Tavros’s store should be around here, right?”

“Uh. Yeah. Just across the street. But is now a good time to buy snacks? I thought we had to get back to church as soon as possible.”

“This is important. Lead the way, John!”

 You start walking towards the front of the grocery and Miss Pyrope links her arm with yours without comment. It’s nothing new. She’s been grabbing you and slinging you around since day one. However, you flinch just a little as her fingers settle into their familiar spot around your bicep and she quirks her lip, noticing the start.

“Something the matter?” She asks. It’s the closest the pair of you have been, since she brushed her skinny, chapped lips against yours and she knows it.

“No. Nothing’s wrong.” You chew the inside of your cheek as you guide her across the street and up onto the opposite sidewalk. “Here’s the place. I think it’s closed though.”

A sign hanging by the door certainly states so. However Miss Pyrope either doesn’t hear you or she just doesn’t care, as she strides right up to the door and knocks furiously three times against the smudged glass, causing it to rattle dangerously. There comes a loud _crash_ from inside and Miss Pyrope snickers. Tavros must have dropped something.

Sure enough, when he opens the door a few seconds later, wide-eyed and startled, there are brown stains on the base of his chair and all over his shoes.

“Oh god.” He groans. “What do you want?”

“You’re never happy to see me, Tavros.” Miss Pyrope responds, leaning against the doorframe casually. Tavros wheels his chair back a few inches. “I thought we had an understanding. I thought we were _friends._ You’re always happy to see everyone _else_ in town, except for me!”

“I’m not happy to see him either.” Tavros points to you and you resist the urge to pout. “And we aren’t friends, Terezi. The only time I see you is when you need something or when you want to vandalize my shop.”

“You say vandalize. I say protect. It’s all a matter of perspective, isn’t it? The world looks a lot different from down there I bet. Hehehe.” There’s a moment of awkward silence. “Yeah, you’re in a wheelchair. I should have thought about that comment before I said it- Anyway!” She claps her hands together. “You’re right. I need something from you, Tavros, something that only _you_ can do for me.”

“Forget it.” Rolling backwards into his shop, Tavros attempts to close the door. “I’m not your assistant.”

“This isn’t just a favor for me though!” Miss Pyrope’s swift shoulder prevents the door from being shut further. “It’s for the greater good! The safety of not just our lives, but many others, rests in your pudgy little boy hands!”

Tavros pauses a second to examine his hands, then returns to attempting to shut his door on Miss Pyrope’s shoulder with renewed vigor.

“Argh! No – wait! Let me try that again.” Miss Pyrope growls, fighting back.

You watch them struggle for at least two minutes, neither of them gaining any ground in the vicious tug-of-war over the unfortunate door. Why it is that you came to Tavros in the first place, is beyond you. Why Tavros dislikes Miss Pyrope so much (besides the obvious) is also beyond you. What you do know however, is that the church bells are still ringing somewhere in the center of town and that this current strife is getting you absolutely no where.

“Alright that’s enough. That’s enough!” You intervene, stepping in to grab Miss Pyrope around the waist and with one arm and wrench open the door with the other. Both of the combatants looked shocked at your sudden outburst and you use their confusion to your advantage, setting the detective down behind you and placing yourself between her and the grocer. “What the hell is the matter with you two? Is this how two, full grown adults have a conversation? You’re _both_ a couple of lunatics!”

“Just keep her away from me.” Tavros pleads, waving his hands as if to physically bat away his intruders. Miss Pyrope hisses like a cat. “She’s ruined my life enough. Whatever it is you two need, you can get it somewhere else.”

“It has to be you, Tavros! There’s no one else I can trust to take care of business.” Miss Pyrope retorts.

“Yeah!” You agree, then add quietly to your boss: “What do we need him to do, exactly?”

“Nothing dangerous, nothing expensive, nothing tedious or fool-hardy or weird.” Stepping around you, Miss Pyrope addresses Tavros. “I think I’ve figured out _what_ hasbeen murdering people in Silverchurch and _why_ it’s been doing it. John and I are on our way to… make the necessary accusations, but we need an ace in the hole. What I need  you to do, Tavros, is just sit in your home, do your thing, and if John and I don’t return in two hours, notify the police from Rainbow Falls and send them down into the silver church.”

Tavros’s expression has shifts at the mention of the recent murders. First he was emoting anger and annoyance, but now there’s certainly some confusion and, dare you think it, a little bit of intrigue. He leans forward from his chair as Miss Pyrope finishes speaking and looks shiftily from her, to you, then back up into her red glasses again.

“What’s in the silver church?” He asks.

“Oh, Tavros.” Miss Pyrope ruffles his hair, much like a pet-owner would reward an unruly puppy who’d finally learned to pee outside. “You always were the curious type. I wish I’d treated you better in the past. Can we count on you to what I’ve just told you?”

“Vriska scares me.” Tavros admits, leaning back again. Apparently he’s content with his question going unanswered, or perhaps he just knows arguing is useless.

“She scares everyone.” You agree.

“Just don’t look her in the eye.” Miss Pyrope advises. “So will you do it?”

Tavros contemplates for a moment, frowning hard as he drums his fingers on the arm of the his chair. You wonder what’s going on in that head of his. On one hand, he probably thinks that this is just Miss Pyrope fucking around, using him in some kind of prank or something. But then again, one look at your busted mug might just be enough to let him know that this is some serious business, and that it might be better to play it safe rather than sorry.

Or perhaps he’s just pausing for dramatic effect.

“Two hours?” He asks.

Both you and Miss Pyrope nod quickly.

He returns the gesture and, without another word, closes the door. Miss Pyrope allows it to shut fully and then sighs. Together, the pair of you step off the porch and back onto the sidewalk, where the detective once more takes your arm.

“I thought you didn’t want Vriska involved.” You comment as you begin walking once more. As you do, you cast a glance over your shoulder and see that Tavros has extinguished all the light inside of his shop. “Also, do you really think he’s going to do it?”

“Like I said, we need an ace in the hole.  I’d like to resolve this my way, but if worst comes to worst, Vriska will follow us into the silver church and probably just shoot everyone. Either way, it’s all over.” Miss Pyrope explains. “And to answer your question, I’m going to give Tavros the benefit of the doubt. I owe him that much.”

You don’t respond. As always, Miss Pyrope is both a wealth of information and infuriatingly cryptic at the same time.

The great bell is swinging wildly in the silver church’s steeple when you cross the grassy lawn towards the front doors. The poor entryway was torn to shreds the previous night, when the transformed Bec had attempted to eat your collective faces. Luckily the countermeasures that Eridan had set up to keep out intruders, namely a single chain across the door, had done it’s job.

The chain is still there, but just like before, the doors open wide enough to allow a single person at a time to slip through.

“Ladies first?” You offer, holding the doors apart.

“Such a gentlemen. Hehe. “Cackles Miss Pyrope softly, as she slides under your arm and into the church.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well damn, when life hits, it hits hard. Essentially these updates are probably going to slow down due to school and work and stuff. I’m still writing whenever I can/feel like it and this story will get finished eventually, but just not as quickly as I’d like. oh well!
> 
> Thanks for reading and sticking around. You’re my best friend.  
> \- Mike


	14. All According to Plan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to adashofpepper for commenting.

=> Be John Egbert

You are still John Egbert. Which means that if your father could see you right now, he’d probably be really proud to call you his son. His face, the firm visage etched into your memory like stone, would probably crack slightly and allow a single, fatherly tear to escape from his otherwise barren tear ducts. He’d say something really nice too, something meaningful and to the point, something like hey son the cards were stacked against you at first but you really put in a bunch of work and you showed all the naysayers what’s what and you came out alright, I’m very proud of you.

Then he’d rest a powerful hand on your shoulder, turn you around, and guide you right the fuck out of this motherfucking church because god-dammit if this isn’t the worst idea you’ve ever had.

Upon entering the church, you half expect to find Eridan waiting for you behind the door or perhaps lurking in the shadows, ready to strike you down with some evil, dark wizardy or something, perhaps even a bolt of magic lightening. However, the interior of the Silverchurch is largely unchanged. The sheet-covered pews, the decrepit pipe organ, the jagged hole in the ground is all still here, but with the unwelcome addition that every single corner of the inside of the church is now completely filled by the uneven, thunderous clangs of the large church bell still swinging up in the steeple as if caught in a hurricane. Miss Pyrope throws her hands over her ears, eyes squeezed tight in pain, and screams:

“ARADIA! CUT IT OUT!!”

Immediately, the bell slows, and after two more brutish rings comes to an unnatural, rattling halt. You pat the detective on the arm to let her know the danger has passed and from the rafters descends a familiar, shimmering silver specter. Aradia stops before touching the ground, close enough for the tattered hem of her ghostly skirt to brush the dusty floorboards.

“Detective.” She greets offhandedly. “John.”

“Hey there.” You want to give the ghost a hug, but quickly decide against it. “Good job ringing that bell!”

“Yes, you went above and beyond the call of duty.” Miss Pyrope comments, digging at her ear with a fingernail. “Remind me to give you a gold star once all of this is over.”

“I’m no stranger to sarcasm, detective.” Aradia folds her arms. “I did as you asked.”

“And you’ve been a valuable addition to our team. I’m sorry- it’s been a hectic day.” Pausing a second to take a breath, Miss Pyrope finds her center. “Thanks for your help. Now what’s the low-down on the sitch?”

“The what on the what?”

“The low-down on the sitch.” Miss Pyrope repeats.

“I don’t-“

“The situation! What’s happening? Where do we stand, Casper?!”

“Is that the slang nowadays?” Ponders Aradia. “My oh my, times surely do change.  Well, seeing as I was just ringing the church bell, Eridan has returned to his lab and as far as I can tell, he isn’t cooking up anything particularly friendly.”

“That’s all we need to know. Come on, John.” Miss Pyrope leads the way towards the hole in the center of the floor. “And for christ’s sake, Aradia, get out of this church every once and a while, seriously.”

Two steel stakes have been hammered firmly into the rim surrounding the hole and anchored to the loamy ground beneath. Trailing off into the darkness is a rope ladder that Eridan no doubt used to navigate the steep slope down into his super secret underground base. Miss Pyrope taps at the ladder with her cane and you quickly describe the setup to her.

“Leave it to an asshole like Eridan to build a private slide and then ruin it with this garbage. Oh well, we better post haste. We’re on the clock here.”

“Right.” You agree. As the detective swiftly mounts the ladder and begins her descent, you turn to your ghostly friend. “Are you coming with us, Aradia?”

“I don’t see the point, honestly.” She responds, bobbing lazily through the air on the frigid draft sneaking in between the front doors. You can’t imagine that she would see much of the point to any of this. Being dead for a while probably makes all the crap you’re invested in seem really trivial. “Do you want me to come?” She asks regardless.

You consider saying ‘yes’ for a moment, but decide against it. As cool as it would be to have a ghost by your side, you really don’t know what you’re walking into and the last thing you want to do is put someone else in danger. If Aradia somehow got killed again, then you don’t know what would happen, and you’d rather not find out the hard way. No, you’ll have to ask Miss Pyrope about the ghost rules next time you get the chance.

“Nope. Don’t worry about it. I think me and the boss lady have everything under control.” You give the ghost a wave goodbye as you clamber into the hole. “We’ll catch up with you again soon though, alright? Thanks again for all your help!”

“Wait, John. Before you go, I think I should give you a piece of advice.”

“Uh, alright.” You’re sort of in the middle of clinging desperately to a rope ladder that looked a lot more stable a few seconds ago, but sure, you’ve got time to chat. “What’ve you got?”

“Avoid dying, if at all possible. Being a ghost has it’s perks, but they’re meager, and not much of anything compared to the privileges you take for granted while you’re alive. So if it ever seems like you’re about to die, don’t do it. Do the opposite of that.”

“…”

“Do you understand?”

“Yes. Yes, I understand.” It’s impossible to resist rolling your eyes. “Thanks a bunch, Aradia. You should really write that advice down somewhere so you don’t forget it. People need to hear it.”

“You’re spending too much time with the detective.” Responds Aradia dryly and with a smidgen of distain. Nevertheless, she raises her hand in farewell as she drifts upwards into the ceiling and out of sight. It’s hard for you to tell exactly, but you think you may hear the faint hums of a forgotten song drifting in her wake.

You add ‘reintroduce Aradia into modern society’ to your mental to-do list as you begin shuffling downwards into darkness. Miss Pyrope is right, someone’s going to have to get her out of this church and up to speed on the current happenings, and you’d rather it be you than the blind recluse with an unsettling affinity for the color red and an annoying habit of giving you mixed romantic signals.

Speaking of which, you should probably ask Miss Pyrope if she’s coming down with a cold. Ever since that little kiss, you’ve had this extremely annoying tickle in the back of your throat and if she gave you some kind of bug, you’re going to be pissed.

She’s waiting for you at the bottom the ladder, leaning against the wall and smoking casually.

“Where do you keep getting these?” You demand, swiftly taking the cigarette from her and smothering it under your shoe.

“Stop being so edgy, mom. They help me with my nerves.” She reaches into her coat, but hesitates, and eventually balls her fists in her pockets instead. “You took a while getting down here. Are you up for this?”

“Sort of a little late to ask that, don’t you think?”

“Better late than never.”

“I suppose.”

Miss Pyrope chuckles and turns on her heel, walking off down the tunnel, away from the ladder and towards the laboratory. You follow, resting your hand on her slim shoulder for guidance in the lightless passage for a change. If she thinks anything of this role reversal, she doesn’t say so, and you’re grateful for that. You have much more important things to discuss anyways.

“So what’s our plan?” You ask, voice barely above a whisper. “Are we going to throw some cuffs on him? Force him to leave Bec and Jade and everyone alone? Interrogate the snot out of him?”

“Here’s what’s going to happen.” She begins, equally quiet. “We’re going to walk in there as if we own the place and have some light banter with the guy. Eventually, he’s going to start explaining his evil plan to us, and while he’s distracted talking down to me, you’ll sneak up behind him and get him with the ether and rag combo in my bag.” She pats the messenger bag hanging in it’s usual place around your shoulder for emphasis. “Then, after all that, we’ll cuff him and you’ll drag him topside. You and I will be sipping wine and munching crackers by morning, my dear assistant.”

“I dunno about that, Miss Pyrope. It seems a little too clean-cut to me. What if Eridan just skips the whole banter thing and just goes straight to violently murdering us?”

“Then we’ll go to plan B.” She responds simply. “The details of which we’ll hash out should the need arise. For now though, just trust me on this, and try not to drop the ether on accident. If you knock yourself out by mistake, I swear, I will never ever let you live it down.”

“Well then maybe you should be the one to knock him out, while I distract him.”

“No. That won’t work.”

“And why not?”

“Because Eridan doesn’t give two shits about you, dummy. Why would he? You’re nothing special. It’s me that he’ll be worried about. If I know anything about anything, guy’s like Eridan will want to prove their superiority by jabbering about how he outsmarted me and whatnot. He’ll be entirely focused on lecturing me, giving you the opportunity to sneak around him.”

“I don’t know whether to be insulted or flattered.” You respond honestly.

The tunnel beings to lighten as you reach the end of the road. Soon enough, you arrive at a familiar corner, whose wall is lightly dusted with a splotch of blood from where you walked your nose straight into it. All that’s left is a few more yards before you’re back in Eridan’s lab.

“Don’t be insulted or flattered, John.” Miss Pyrope advises. “Just… don’t screw up. And don’t get hurt either.”

You look down at her and, for the first time all night, she looks genuinely distressed. Her lips are curved in such a way that she’s simultaneously chewing and polishing them with tiny, nervous licks, and her hair has never looked more messy and unkempt.

You sort of want to kiss her.

“I sort of want to kiss you.”

She twists her neck to look up at you.

“I…” It takes her a moment. “I think that would be a terrible idea.”

“Yeah. You’re probably right.” Still, the two of you stand frozen in the corridor for a few precious seconds, which seem to stretch out into eternity. And that’s okay, right now, in the dark with this insane woman, you don’t think eternity would be so bad. Eventually you clear your throat. “You wanna go?”

“Yup.”

“You do? Alright, cool. Let’s go.”

And with that, the two of you step around the corner and complete the final steps of your journey into the secret, underground laboratory. The first thing you notice is that the tall electric rod in the center of the cavern is abuzz with activity. It hums with an unseen energy and every fifth of a second pulses of purple light travel it’s length in blurry rings. The sight of the device seems to stand all the hair on your head on end and you feel a sharp headache build behind your left eye, as if conjured by magic.

The tables, laden with all types of fancy-looking equipment are still there, as well as the overstuffed bookcases, which fills you with an odd sense of relief. All of this stuff still being here is a good thing. It proves that all of this wasn’t just some stress-induced fever dream.

Across the room, away from most of the clutter, is none other than the man of the hour himself: Eridan Ampora. He’s currently stood over another table, looking quite perplexed at something in his hands. Quietly, utilizing every iota of stealth in your body, you follow Miss Pyrope onto the laboratory floor and through the maze of mysterious and no-doubt dangerous bullshit.

“Stay quiet for now.” Your boss advises as the pair of you tiptoe closer and closer to your target. “And out of sight.”

As you near the man, you can see that he is just as impeccably dressed as always, in a fabulous dark suit, complete with a waistcoat and a bejeweled cane leaning against the table by his side. The second thing you notice is that the surface of the table, instead of being occupied by something ugly and dangerous, is instead home to a half-made sandwich and a glass of something that looks like iced tea. Eridan is currently in the process of attempting to scrape the last bits of peanut butter from a jar with a knife.

“Dammit.” He growls. “Come on!”

Miss Pyrope waits until she’s about ten yards away from the villain before revealing herself.

“Eridan Ampora.” She snarls, jumping out from behind a filing cabinet. “Just the man I wanted to see. Hehehe.”

You remain crouched behind large, brass spittoon that Eridan has lying around for some reason. Not an easy feat considering that your cover is quite small and that you’re currently a ‘newborn deer’ on the wobbly-leg scale. You keep the plan in mind though and focus all of your energy in remaining out of sight.

“Terezi?” Eridan frowns and sets the jar and knife on the counter. “I- um… There’s a really good explanation for all of this, I assure you.”

“Save it, you practitioner of unholy magicks!” Miss Pyrope strafes to the left, drawing Eridan’s eyes. You take the opportunity to slink in the opposite direction, ducking under a nearby table. “I’ve been onto you and your schemes since day one. Did you really think that you could get away with it? Brainwashing Bec, killing those people, holding this town hostage under your invisible, ominous thumb!”

“Well to be perfectly honest, yeah. I actually did think I’d get away with it.” Lip rising in a disgusted sneer, Eridan snatches up his cane and points it towards your employer’s chest. Your breath catches in your throat at the sight, but you fight the urge to rush him. “I never considered that you, the crazy woman on four-thirteen, would ever actually be good at her job. I mean, look at you! You look completely ridiculous! What is with those glasses? Are they even prescription?”

“I’m blind.”

“Oh. Seriously?” Eridan chuckles. “I didn’t know that, belive it or not. I never cared enough to find out.”

“And that was your biggest mistake!” Miss Pyrope bites back. You crawl on your hands and knees behind an upright bass, sitting on a kickstand. Only a few more yards of open space stand between you and Eridan. “No one has ever considered me to be a threat until it was far too late and you have fallen privy to that fortunate cliché. The jig is up, Ampora. I’ll give you one chance to surrender.”

“Now, I’ll allow you to come down here into my laboratory unannounced, but there’s no way you’ll be arresting me any time soon. Why on earth should I surrender when I’ve done nothing wrong?” Eridan questions, as he casually brushes some lint from his sleeve. “This land is rightfully mine. I can build whatever I want here!”

“Nothing wrong? You’ve caused the death of two innocent people!  All for your selfish agenda!” Rather she’s is hamming it up for your sake or if she’s actually furious, you can’t tell, but that really isn’t your problem at the moment anyways. With shaking hands, you unscrew the cap of the ether bottle and, careful not to spill, quickly soak a thick handkerchief.

“I’ve been providing this town a service! There’s not a selfish thing about that.” Eridan insists.

“You killed Mr. Rosewater and Mrs. Brooks in an attempt to sabotage their private businesses,” Miss Pyrope growls. “Thusly hurting the Silverchurch economy and lowering the property value of most of the buildings and domiciles in town! You weren’t going to stop their either, no way. By remotely controlling Bec with this machine,” She points towards the large, glowing antenna. “You were going to kill every businessman and woman in town, forcing most of the townsfolk to relocate, leaving you with unlimited space to commit your evil deeds and expand your underground fortress, which is honestly one of the most ridiculous things I’ve ever had the pleasure of visiting! You’re a selfish, snobbish, greedy sonovabitch, Ampora, and you’re finished.”

Barely daring to breath, you slink out from behind your hiding spot and begin creeping towards Eridan’s exposed back. Miss Pyrope is on the far side of the villain, but whether she notices you or not, she gives no indication. Eridan is currently frozen like a statue, caught like a deer in the headlights, staring at Miss Pyrope with a slightly slack jaw and wide eyes.

“What… the fuck are you talking about?” He asks, dumbfounded.

“Um- your plan. You know, the evil plan I was just deconstructing.” Miss Pyrope wrings her hands around her cane. “Do you want me to say it all again?”

“No. No, I got it. Just… what the fuck.” His many-ringed fingers come up to brush at his dyed and sculpted hair. “Well, first off: I really do practice dark magic. You were right about that. However, I only killed Mr. Rosewater because he screwed up my order at the pub one time.”

“Are you fucking serious?”

“Yup.” Eridan sighs. “I never considered all that stuff you just said, but now that I think about it, that’s all a pretty solid idea.”

“So, hold on. Wait. Why did you kill Mrs. Brooks then?”

“She was old and fat and gross to look at. Also she was charging waaaay too much for the fish she caught in the lake. Two dollars for a quarter pound of catfish?! Get out of town!”

“You could have easily afforded that! GAH!” Miss Pyrope throws her hands in the air, definitely furious now. “You’re not a criminal mastermind! You’re nothing but a spoiled brat with too much power and more time than they know what to do with! I’ll see you hanged for this, Ampora. Pucker your lips because you’re about to kiss the ass of the law!”

“Oh really?” Eridan sneers. “I don’t think so, detective. I won’t be going anywhere with you or…” He twirls suddenly and points his cane directly at you, catching you out in the open a few feet short from your target. “Your little boy toy. Mwahahaha!”

“Fuck!” You can’t help but curse, arms falling limply to your side. “What gave me away?”

“I heard you breathing from across the room, Johnny Boy. What’s wrong with you? You got asthma or something?”

“He’s not my boy toy!” Miss Pyrope interjects from Eridan’s other side, before you can answer. “We’re just… it’s complicated right now, alright?”

“Well allow me to uncomplicated things for you!” Like a baton dancer in a sweet parade, Eridan swishes his cane through the air. You flinch away, expecting to be shocked or burned by some magical spell, but nothing happens. Instead the air is filled with a high-pitched whistling noise, much like a tea pot would make. It’s annoying, that’s for sure, but definitely not life-threatening. “I’d start running if I were you, detective. I’d say you have about forty-five seconds before it’s lights out for good!”

You don’t have time to contemplate what it is he’s saying, because suddenly Miss Pyrope lets out a shout of rage and charges towards Eridan, cane twisting and coming apart as she darts forward. She’s going to stab him, you realize with horror.

Without thinking, you drop the now rather useless ether rag and rush Eridan as well. If you can get a hold on him, maybe you can wrestle him to the ground before Miss Pyrope can strike, then you can disarm this situation before any blood is shed. Your employer is livid and acting out, you know her well enough to tell that much. She’ll regret hurting Eridan later.

As it turns out though, your heroics were in vain. Before either you or Miss Pyrope can reach Eridan, he spins on the spot once more and, in a puff of acrid, black smoke, disappears completely. The smoke clears as quickly as it arrived and you’re suddenly left stumbling forward directly into a sword-wielding madwoman, who just so happens to be incapable of seeing for shit.

“John!”

You crack glasses with the detective as she cries out your name and the next thing you know there’s a white-hot flash of pain blazing a trail through your abdomen. Together, the pair of you crumble onto each other and topple to the floor, a tangle mass of confusion and pain and, to your continued horror, blood.

Lots of blood.

“HAHAHAHHAAAHAHA!!!” Someone is laughing. With an extreme amount of effort you pull your head out from under Miss Pyrope’s arm and look to see Eridan, now sitting casually on a nearby stool, laughing to the high heavens. “Oh god! This truly, incredibly rich. Oh goodness me, had I known I would get a show tonight with my sandwich, I would have worn my dinner jacket. Oh wait.” He snaps his fingers and in another poof of smoke, dons a satin coat. “There we go.”

“J-John?” Miss Pyrope grumbles.

Looking down, you open your mouth to answer her call, but upon seeing the thin rod of sharpened steel protruding from your side, you find that words are rather hard to come by. Your eyes, quite of their own volition, attempt to roll backwards into your head, but you fight the darkness. You’ve come too far to give up now.

“You stabbed me.” You inform your boss, a coppery taste in your mouth.

“Once again your skills of deduction never cease to amaze. Hehe.” She laughs, but there’s no humor in it. Quick as a flash, she disentangles herself from you and rises to her feet. You opt to rest on the floor for a while, seeing as you’re still impaled. “Don’t move, John. I’ll have this creten wrapped up in no time at all.”

“Is that so?” Eridan mocks her openly. “I’d very much like to see you try, Terezi. Especially since your last attempt paid off sooo nicely. I wonder what your strategy is going to be this time. Are you going to hit John with a baseball bat? That might show me what’s what- Hey, are you even listening to me?”

Miss Pyrope has rolled you onto your side, causing you to wince. Her blade, still lodged somewhere between your eighth and ninth rib, wiggles slightly, but you barely register pain. You’re in numbness mode right now, but experience has proven that the real pain will set in soon enough. You’re about to tell Miss Pyrope not to bother with you, but to deal with Eridan instead, when you realize that she isn’t helping you, but actually retrieving the messenger bag still draped over your neck.

“Be my guest, root through your bag of tricks.” Eridan continues to smack talk, as Miss Pyrope does just that. “I’d bet good money that there’s nothing in that rucksack that can save you now- Oh shit.”

From the depths of her bag, Miss Pyrope draws a sinister, black revolver and levels it in Eridan’s direction. He goes silent.

“No, by all means, keep smack-talking, asshat.” She hisses. “It’d really make my day.”

“You think I’m scared of a little gun? Ha! Mortal weapons can’t harm me, detective. Me, my clothes, everything I own has been enchanted with magical wards.”

“These bullets are coated in a layer of dylowine.” Miss Pyrope cocks the pistol loudly. “They’ll follow you wherever you disappear to and burn through any magic ward you can cast. They’ll punch a hole straight through your stupid head or your money back guaranteed.”

“You’re bluffing.”

“Try me.”

For the first time, Eridan looks legitimately nervous. He fingers his cane, as if mulling over his options, while his eyes quickly scan the room. It’s when his eyes rove towards your left, beyond your field of view, that a wry smile suddenly twists his already ugly mug.

You hear a low growl, rumbling like thunder.

“I suppose the only question that remains then is whether or not you can pull the trigger before my assistant decapitates yours. Hahaha.”

Casting a glance over your shoulder, you do about a triple take, when you see that none other than Bec the dog has followed you and Miss Pyrope down into the laboratory and is now crouched over you. His massive maw, lined with razor-sharp teeth, is poised over your head, dripping melted snow onto your coat- ready to chomp down and end your life at the drop of his master’s hat.

Miss Pyrope doesn’t turn her head towards you, but then again, she doesn’t have to. The sour scent of Bec’s wet fur is enough for her to deduce what Eridan is talking about. It’s a classic stalemate. You just so happen to have assumed the worst role available.

“You’re a piece of shit, Ampora.” Miss Pyrope doesn’t lower her weapon. “And I hate you.”

“Likewise.”

“But I have to admit…” She sighs. “You really did outsmart me on this one. I believed that I would be able to waltz down here, with just my wits and my bag of tricks, and bring you to justice easy-peasy. You proved me wrong. I guess this really is the end of the line.... Unless…” Suddenly, she shouts: “Unless there’s a deus ex machina!”

She waits. You wait. Eridan waits. Hell, even Bec seems to pause.

Nothing happens.

“Ahem.” Miss Pyrope clears her throat, then repeats herself. “Deus ex machina!”

Another few seconds pass.

“Deus ex machina!”

Eridan rolls his eyes and you decidedly go limp, ready to accept your fate.

“Deus ex-“

“Bec!” A new voice abruptly interrupts Miss Pyrope. Everyone looks as one to see, of all the people in the world, Jade Harley standing at the entrance to the laboratory, wearing a fur coat over her pajamas, and gripping her rifle tightly in her hands. She surveys the scene, locates her loyal pet, as well as his company and- adopts an expression of total confusion. “What the hell is going on down here?!?”

“Ugh- Eridan’s been mind-controlling Bec into killing people and Miss Pyrope and I are here to stop him.” You cough up a bit of blood. “It’s not going well.”

“Oh contraire, my dear assistant. Everything is going according to plan.” And before anyone can react, Miss Pyrope turns, raises her gun, and fires.

Her bullet sails through the air, over everyone’s head, and strikes the glowing antenna in the center of the room. Then all hell breaks loose.

The large rod sparks and crackles, your feels like it’s being cleaved in two by an invisible axe, someone screams, and an arc of lightning flashes over head and strikes Eridan’s cane. He yelps in surprise and drops the instrument to the ground, where the gem in the handle shatters like glass. As if a switch has been flicked, Bec’s jaw closes on empty air and he retreats from you quickly, leaving you with your head mercifully still intact.

“Agh! You idiot! Do you have any idea what you’ve done?!” Eridan shouts, swiftly grabbing his cane from the ground and inspecting the broken end.

“Of course. I destroyed the transmitter you use to amplify your mind-controlling abilities to manipulate Bec with my enchanted gun, duh.” Miss Pyrope responds matter-of-factly.

“I was helping this town! Pruning the bad fruit!” Gripping his cane like spear, Eridan screams. “And you, Terezi Pyrope, are the worst frUIT OF THEM ALL!!”

“I don’t even know what that’s supposed to-” Miss Pyrope begins, but once more, she is interrupted.

The lines making up Eridan blur and stretch and in fraction of an instant, he closes the distance between him and Miss Pyrope- and drives the jagged end of his cane into her chest. Her mouth stretches open into a stunned ‘O’ and her knees buckle as Eridan savagely pulls his weapon free again. You cry out in surprise, horrified by what’s happening, but unable to act due to, you know, still being thoroughly stabbed and all that yourself.

Eridan, who has descended into laughter, suddenly goes silent as a second gunshot rings through the air.

You look in slow motion to see Jade Harley standing by the reformed Bec’s side, holding her rifle aloft, the barrel still smoking. Eridan falls to his knees, clutching his head between his hands.

“DAMN! That really hurt!” He gasps, scrabbling at his scalp. “You- You shot me!”

“Yeah. I did.” Jade snaps. “So why aren’t you dead?”

“Because I’m a dark sorcerer, you dumb punk!” Eridan seethes in return. “It’ll take more than a regular bullet to the head to put me do-GAHHARHHHHH!!!”

As he speaks, Jade lets out a low whistle and, in a flash of white; Bec launches forward and seizes Eridan by the throat with his powerful jaws.

 What happens next will stay with you until the day you die, haunting your nightmares and plaguing you in the silent moments during your day.

You watch, frozen with disgust and disbelief, as Bec slowly crushes Eridan’s windpipe over the course of the next three minutes. He screams and struggles the whole time, feebly attempting to escape through any means possible. It’s all for naught however, as whatever changes Eridan himself manifested in Bec, probably keep him from harming the animal or escaping it’s grasp.

You watch and wait for Eridan to die.

When the time hits the five minute mark though, you’re forced to look away as Eridan continues to struggle and writhe. Jade appears by your side.

“He’s not going to die, is he?” She asks.

You open your mouth to answer, but someone else beat you to it.

“It’s like he said.” Miss Pyrope croaks. “He’s protected by magic- blegch- your dog should be able to hold him though until… until the authorities arrive.” She’s weak and obviously in a lot of pain. You eye the rough, circular cut in her chest and feel queasy. “You- You’ll have to explain things to Vriska, Jade. Make her understand.”

“Miss Pyrope…” Reaching out, you grip the cavern floor with all of your remaining strength and drag yourself across the ground towards her, leaving a trail of blood in your wake. “You’re going to be okay.”

“Shut up, John. We’ve both been stabbed.” She coughs.

“Yeah, but- you’ve been through worse, right?”

“Of course.” The two of you meet each other halfway and while Jade watches, and Bec savagely tortures Eridan nearby, you embrace. “One time I was completely sawed in half by an angry gnome.”

“Really?”

“No, you idiot. I’m kidding.”

“Oh.” You tuck her under your arm and she growls under her breath (or perhaps it’s purring). “So was this all part of your plan?”

She shudders and sighs. Her long, spindly fingers come to rest on your thigh, where she drums softly.

“Not all of it.”

Jade stands by, keeping watch, and when Vriska arrives some time later with the entirety of the Rainbow Falls police force, she finds an underground laboratory full of dark secrets, a giant dog slinging around a grown man like a rag doll, and a detective and her assistant, nestled together in the most adorable bloody heap imaginable. Needless to say, she has more than a few questions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well would you look at them apples, we have officially reached the end of this half-baked tale. I couldn’t have done it without your help and I thank each and every person who has ever read, liked, thought about reading, or lightly skimmed this story. It’s all been for you, so I suppose, in a way, this has all been your fault. Damn you.
> 
> The next chapter is an epilogue (fifteen chapters seems like a good place to cut it off), where hopefully some closure shall be found. Emphasis on hopefully. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, lovelies.  
> \- Mike


	15. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who ever commented on or reade this story.

=> Be Terezi Pyrope

You are Terezi Pyrope. And it’s time to wake up and smell the ashes.

The last thing you remember is an odd sense of dichotomy- extreme pain paired together with an unfamiliar sense of contentment and ease- followed by a numb, cold sensation that typically comes along with extreme blood loss.

OH, right. You were stabbed.

“Well there she goes with her brand new love affair, dancin’ with him like she don’t even care. Oh let her dance with him, let her dance all night loooong…”

The rest of the song trails off somewhere to your immediate left and you crook your head, hair brushing against something coarse yet yielding, as you try to pinpoint the source of the noise. It’s John of course, mumbling some dumb song to himself under his breath as he sits by your side. The smell of medicinal alcohol and day’s old blood overwhelms your senses and, as you breathe, there’s definitely something wrapped tightly around your chest, constricting you.

So you’re alive. That’s always nice.

John hasn’t noticed that you’re awake yet, which really for the best at the moment. It gives you more time to prepare for what’s to come and to piece together what has already happened. While your chest wound has been treated, you’re currently not in a hospital. You can tell that much due to the texture of the blanket thrown over you and the familiar _ticking_ of the grandfather clock in the corner. There’s no doubt that you’re presently lying on your divan back at four-thirteen.

That’s good. For one, you don’t have the money to pay for true medical treatment, and two, hospitals have always given you the willies.

Someone must have patched you up of their own accord. Probably not John, since you doubt the poor sap could thread string through a needle if his life depended on it, but someone else, someone well-trained judging by the effectiveness of the dressings cinched across your chest. Silverchurch is without a surgeon, and has been without one for a long time with so few people in town to warrant one. The closest one is actually in Rainbow Falls and you doubt any surgeon would have made it to Silverchurch in time to do more than pronounce you officially dead, John too most likely.

So Vriska then, you decide. Who else was at the scene with enough know-how to patch someone up on a dime? That dastardly spider has always been a jack of all trades, not that you’d ever tell her that. She must have had to work fast to keep both you and John from slipping away.

How long has it been? A few hours? A day?

You breathe deeply. A sheen of sweat still rests on John’s skin and underneath the blanket of dried blood, fresh red seeps through the bandages no-doubt holding John’s guts inside as well. He’s lucky. None of his major organs must have been punctured when you- erm, _accidentally_ ran him through with your sword, otherwise you’d be out posting ‘Help Wanted’ signs on the message board again.

Or perhaps… maybe not.

Never again.

You shake yourself mentally, forcing yourself to stay on track. If it’s been less than a day since your encounter with Eridan, then Vriska is undoubtedly still lurking around somewhere in your house, waiting for you to wake up. You’ll have to proceed cautiously.

“John.” Your chest aches as you talk. “Stay quiet.”

“Oh shit!” He gasps. “Miss Pyrope, you’re-“

“Alive. Yes, yes. I know. Now, _shush_ keep your voice down, you damn claxon.” You can practically hear his face stretch as he smiles. “What’s the low down on the sitch? Where are Vriska and Eridan? Where’s Jade?”

“Ummm,” John begins, voice much lower now. His chair _creaks_ as he shuffles around in it, trying to get comfortable. “Well, Jade is over at town hall I think, explaining what she witnessed to some of the fuzz. I dunno about Bec though…”

“Dogs don’t typically get put down for defending their masters from evil villains. If Jade did her job explaining, then he’s probably fine.” You try to reassure him, although it’s hard to be sure. “What else?”

“Vriska’s outside.” He looks towards the door, causing a faint gust to waft in that direction with every breath. His mouth is dry, the last thing he drank being a small glass of water over an hour ago most likely. Why that information is important to mention, you don’t know, but you’ll be damned if you don’t flex your sensitive nose-muscles every chance you get. “She won’t tell me anything about Eridan, but I think he’s still alive, just in custody.”

“They’ll keep him for trail.” You mutter to yourself, John picks it up though.

“Do you think he’ll be found guilty?”

“Of course, John. He’s directly tied to our current state of health, after all. How are you feeling by the way?”

“A little sore.” He grunts and shifts in his chair again. “But it’s to be expected I suppose, considering that you _stabbed_ _me_ and all.”

“I’m only partially to blame for that one, Mr. Pincushion. If you had looked where you were going, there’s a good chance you wouldn’t have an excessive number of holes in your body right now.”

“Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to run with sharp objects?” He bites back.

“No.”

“Well then…” His next words sit heavy on his tongue, like a boulder about to tumble over the edge of crest. You know what he’s thinking, so you beat him to the punch. “What were your-“

“I’m not telling you about my parents, John.” You state firmly. “At least not until you tell me about yours, or when we reach level five on the friend’s scale.”

“Heh.” He chuckles, although it’s dull. “Friends.”

You recognize the wrong choice of words too late and instantly regret bringing up the friend’s scale. You decide to change the subject quickly, whilst still making note of the way he quickly, with practiced ease, dodged the whole _‘parents’_ topic once it was shifted in his direction. Very intriguing indeed.

“Um. So anyways, if Vriska’s still hanging around. We probably don’t have much time to talk, so we’ve got to make this quick. After you and I are deemed fit for questioning, we’re probably going to be…” You trail off as the wind changes.

A chill races up and down your arms the scent of dusty wood, tinged with mold causes your nose to scrunch up horribly. Aradia just floated her way up through the floor from the basement, positioning herself near John by your bedside (or is it couchside).

“Vriska is coming inside.” She says immediately. Then adds. “Hello, detective. It’s nice to see you alive.”

“What are you doing here, Aradia?” You grunt, working your way up higher on your pillow. “I thought you were busy playing with dust bunnies in that church of yours.”

“She followed us home and I told her she could stay.” John explains quickly. “Can we keep her, Terezi? Pretty please! I promise to take care of her and everything!”

“I’m not a stray dog, John.” Aradia chides, although she doesn’t seem particularly irked by the notion.

You’re momentarily caught off guard, not by Aradia’s surprise presence in your house, but more by John’s use of your first name. It doesn’t take long for you to recover, but it’s enough for the brief stint of privacy with your assistant to come to an end. You hear the sound of the front door being opened, accompanied by powerful, authoritative footsteps coming down the hall. Without speaking further, Aradia sinks smoothly back into the floor just as Vriska marches through the doorway and into the sitting room.

“Heeeeeeeey,” She greets boldly, with just enough rehearsed snark to jack up your blood pressure a few notches. “Look at this: sleeping beauty finally cracked an eyelid, hmmmm?”

“Yes, against your best efforts, Serket, I live to fight another day. Heheehe.” You cackle/cough. John is shivering in his chair and you want to reach out to steady him, but don’t dare. Not in front of her. The less ammunition she has to use on you, the better.

“Mind if your boss and I have a private chat, Johnny?”

“Um.” The man in question pauses, most likely looking between the two women quickly. You give him a slight nod and he acquiesces. “Sure.”

With a great deal of groaning and creaking and cracking, John rises stiffly from his chair and shuffles from the room. You can tell from his stride that he’s hunched over in pain and the dull _clunk_ leading his footsteps tell you that he’s using a cane to get around. Poor fella. You’d think any person having gone through what he’s suffered would have earned more than just a few hours of bed rest.  You make a mental note to let him sleep in tomorrow.

Once John has left the room and crossed the hall to your office, Vriska sinks into his vacated chair and levels a snide look in your direction. The air whistles softly as she twirls something between her fingers thoughtfully, a baton or something.

“How are you feeling?” She asks.

“A little hungry, a little tired.” You flutter your hand through the air in an attempt to convey your nonchalance. “But still kicking.”

“Remarkably.”

“I’ve been through worse.”

“I know.” There’s a terse silence, during which Vriska spins her toy once more before grasping it firmly and twisting it apart. A familiar _snikt_ informs you that she’s gotten a hold of your cane sword. “I see that you’re still talking to Equius.” She comments, admiring the blade.

“Of course. He’s a good pal!”

“And he makes the coolest toys, doesn’t he?”

“I could have gotten that cane anywhere.” You snort.

“And the machine outside?” She challenges.

“I’m… holding that for a friend?” You mentally curse John. He must have thrown the ruined DNA machine in the trash, casting it out for just anyone who’s curious enough to stumble upon it. Damn Vriska and her nosiness, although you suppose you’re partially to blame as well. You didn’t tell John _how_ to dispose of it, after all. “It’s just trash now anyways, and even if it wasn’t, it’s not against the law to own stuff like that.”

“It’s against the law to break into a crime scene, tamper with evidence, and withhold information though.” Vriska titters like a disappointed parent and clicks your cane back together with a sharp _snap_. “Why do you always insist on doing things the hard way, Terezi?”

“Because it’s much more entertaining that-“

“Be serious!” Vriska barks, stomping your cane into the floorboards. You try not to flinch at her outburst, but you can’t help the flash of alarm that flits across your face. She leans forward on her chair, close enough for you to smell her last meal (coffee and an apple) on her breath. “You could have gotten a lot of people killed doing what you did!”

“And what is that exactly?” You reply, playing it cool.

“You know _exactly_.” She snarls. “Luring John and Jade into that cave with that… with that _lunatic_. You and John were almost killed, Eridan was ripped to shreds by that massive barkbeast, and now Jade’s running around town spouting nonsense about magic and wizardry!”

“Wizardry? Perish the thought!”

“You think you’re so cute, huh? Indoctrinating these people into your bizarre cult or whatever you call this disaster.” She gestures about the room, as if indicating a particularly foul mess that needed to be cleaned. “If you keep playing this game, someone is going to get hurt, _worse_ than they already have been.”

“Why is it that you’re so determined to turn the blind eye, Vriska?” You answer with a question of your own. “I’m assuming Tavros told you where to find us; that you ventured below the church and saw everything _I_ saw, yet you still think I’m some kind of sociopath, playing games for the heck of it. I knew what I was doing, sort of.”

“I saw a total clusterfuck, if that’s what you’re talking about, and I heard Jade’s spiel about Eridan’s _master plan_ or whatever it was you told her to say and actually,” There’s a rustling as she reaches into her jacket and retrieves a pad of paper. “I wrote the whole damn thing down, believe it or not, and it still doesn’t make any fucking sense.”

“It’s really not that complicated of a tale.”

“Then you wouldn’t mind clearing up some of the finer points, would you?”

For a second, you consider it. You really do. However, you’re smart enough to know a losing battle when you smell one. You’ve solved enough mysteries like these to know how the system works by now. Those immediately involved will be stricken with surprise to find out that you aren’t the lunatic everyone thought you were. They’ll treat you nice for a while, but eventually, the peer pressure will get to them. People like Vriska, steadfast in the belief that the world is little more than what is seen at the surface level, will cause their voices to go quiet and their confidence to fade.

Pretty soon all this will seem like a dream to Jade and Bec, maybe John too, and Vriska will be there to provide the _truth_ , an unwavering voice of reason.

Until next time.

“I don’t think I have anything to add to Jade’s account.” You affirm simply, leaning back onto your pillow. “I trust her to have passed on the relevant information.”

Vriska sighs, a deep exhalation of air that simultaneously says _‘of course’_ and _‘I don’t get paid enough to deal with this shit’_ , both statements entirely true.

“Eridan’s going away from attempted murder and pilfering.” She changes the subject, shutting her notebook and tucking it away again. “A lot of the equipment in that secret hideout of his was stolen, most of it actually. However, mind-controlling a dog and forcing it to commit murder isn’t exactly something we can throw the book at him for, not without any real proof.”

“Of course.” You’re too tired to argue. In all honesty, you could take Vriska and her crew back down to Eridan’s lab, peel apart all of his work piece by piece, explain all of it in layman’s terms, and she’d still call you and your associates’ nuts.  “And what about Bec?”

“The dog? What about it?”

“He’ll be cleared of all charges, I presume?”

“Charges? He’s a fucking dog. Sure, he mauled Eridan, but somehow the dude’s just fine and honestly who hasn’t wanted to give that prick a good smack or two every once and a while. Besides, he was protecting Jade.” Vriska rises from her chair and you count your blessings, thankful for the little things. “ _You_ , on the other hand, are being fined.”

“I assumed as much.” You groan. Coughing up some dough sucked hard, but it was preferable to being locked up (again) for the spoliation of evidence. “How much do I owe you, Serket?”

“More than you could possibly imagine,” From her pocket, she produces a slip of paper and sticks it to your forehead. “For now though, that’ll be fifty dollars paid out the Law Enforcement Agency of Rainbow Falls.”

“You’ll have to speak to my assistant about that.”

“With pleasure.” Straightening her work attire, Vriska prepares to leave, but not without the last word: “I know we’ve had our disagreements in the past, Terezi, but despite all of that I think it’d be rather bitchy of me not to try to stress something on you. Whatever it is that you were screwing around with these past few days, wasn’t very smart. You got lucky.” She deposits your cane, leaning it against the sofa by your head. “Stop while you’re ahead.”

You wave your hand, displaying a none-too-friendly gesture in her direction as she exits the room and leaves you alone to your thoughts. As much as you hate to admit it, Vriska is right about some things. Things got out of hand. You weren’t thinking clearly. It’s a motherfucking _miracle_ that things came out the way they did.

Groaning, you pull the slip off your forehead and cast it away across the room. Your elbow bumps your cane in the process and sends it clattering to the floor, where it rolls away across the slanted floor. You’re too exhausted and beaten to care though, so you simply lie there and suck in air quietly for several long minutes. Out in the hall, you hear the front door open and close, and then you know that Vriska is gone.

John returns a few seconds later.

“She doesn’t believe us!” He exclaims, hobbling to reclaim his chair. “She doesn’t believe _any_ of it!”

“Are you surprised?” You mumble.

“Well, of course! I don’t see how anyone could just explain away all the crap down in Eridan’s lab. It’s completely ineffable!” He flops down with a grunt and a small shudder ripples through his body. You incline your head towards him. “Why didn’t you try to convince her harder? You could have called up Aradia and had her introduce herself. That’d show her what’s what.”

As if on cue, Aradia herself ascends from the floor to float somewhere near the coffee table.

“I’d prefer that I wasn’t displayed like some sort of zoo animal, thank you very much.” She tones, a touch bitter.

“No, that’s not… I would never- I’m simply saying that you could help.” John splutters. “Like, how can anyone deny a ghost?”

“I wouldn’t recommend that regardless, John.” You answer.

“Why not?”

“Because, regardless of your seemingly infinite stores of optimism, not everyone is as earnest as you, my dear assistant. I’ve learned from experience that more people would rather slay the dragon, than kiss the frog.”

There’s a long pause, as John mulls over your words and as Aradia hums quietly, thoroughly uninterested in the proceedings. The chill on your skin and the ache in your bones tells you that it’s still snowing outside, which is most certainly fine by you. There’s nothing better than snuggling on the sofa, wrapped in warm blanket as the cold weather rages outside; being in the right company is just icing on the cake.

“I don’t think I understand what you mean, boss.” John responds eventually.

“Don’t worry.” You fold your arms behind your head and yawn widely. “You’ll get it eventually.”

* * *

=> Be John Egbert

You are back to being John Egbert. Which means that all’s well that ends well, you suppose.

At the moment, you’re rather uncomfortably perched on a wooden stool, forced to remain perfectly still as Kanaya Maryam fusses over you. All in all, you feel like you’ve been in worse positions, so you’re inclined not to complain as tape measures are pulled taunt across your chest and sewing pins scratch at your arms and neck.

“You’re terribly misshapen.” The seamstress muses, several more needles pinched between her lips. “It’s like someone put chimp arms on a giraffe’s neck and called it a person.”

“I- what?”

“Your arm to chest ratio is all out of sorts, John. I’ll have to drum up a new pattern for you so that the sleeves aren’t too short.”

“Okay. Well, isn’t that your job anyways?” You ask.

“Well, obviously.” Kanaya gives you a small smile and you know that she’s just teasing. “I just want you to know how much trouble you’re going to be.”

“Of course no problem is too big for you, my dear.” Rose is perched like a cat on the edge of a nearby counter, legs crossed at the knee, and a large tome resting in her lap.

“Indeed. It will take more than John’s freakish monkey arms to throw me for a loop.”

You want to bite back with some kind of witty comeback, but nothing comes to mind. One simply needs to glance at Kanaya to realize that any attempted slight against her physical appearance would be time well-wasted, since calling the business-owner anything but absolutely _gorgeous_ is probably considered a crime in some counties. In fact, having been the subject of her scrutiny for the past ten minutes or so, you find that your palms have become unnaturally clammy.

You’ve also lost the ability to swallow.

“I really appreciate this, Kanaya.” You assert, for the fifth time in as many minutes. “I haven’t gotten a new coat in- geez- since I graduated grade school probably.”

“I believe it.” Kanaya comments, tugging the fabric tighter of your shoulders. “Just do me a favor and try and convince Terezi to stop by next chance she gets. I’ve wanted to get my hands on that hair of hers for _years_.”

“You cut hair too?”

“On occasion.”

“That’s great!” It truly seems that everyone in this town is some sort of superhero, except for you. “Although I don’t think a pair of scissors are going to cut it, pun absolutely intended. You might need something a little more heavy-duty to cut through those locks of steel.”

“I think I have a chainsaw or two lying around somewhere.” She chuckles and you believe her. The inside of Kanaya’s shop is a little cramped, but beautifully decorated with lots of floral patterns. The floor space is taken up mostly by wooden mannequins and the counter Rose is currently sitting on, giving Kanaya all of about five square feet to buzz around you as she works.

“How _is_ the detective doing these days?” Rose asks, looking away from her book for the first time.

In the weeks passing the arrest of Eridan, the gothic librarian has ostensibly recovered from whatever sinister aura was ailing her. The dark circles under her eyes have faded away under proper sleep and her skin, while not exactly achieving a healthy glow, has returned to it’s normal Rose-like pallor.

“She’s good.” You answer truthfully. Miss Pyrope recovered rapidly from her chest wood and was running through the house not two days after her encounter with Eridan. You took considerably longer, this swift outing to Kanaya’s shop being your only venture out of the house since your own impalement. “You know her. She could be beaten within an inch of her life by a crazy troll and still probably bounce back good as new.”

“Hmmm. Well let us hope we never find out.” Rose’s lavender eyes flicker, as if reflecting candlelight, and you blink at the odd sight. However the illusion disappears as promptly as it came and Rose calmly returns to her book, slowly turning a page.

“I just can’t believe that Eridan would have done all that.” Kanaya sighs sadly. With firm hands, she coaxes you out of the unfinished coat and flattens it over the counter by Rose’s side, sticking it with yet more pins. “I mean, I always thought he was a little bizarre, but to think that he’d been hiding stolen goods _under_ that silver church of his, and then trying to kill you and Terezi!”

“Mhmmm.” You rub the back of your neck and remain seated on the stool. The official story about Eridan’s work was heavily edited by Vriska and, to your disappointment, Mayor Peixes. Apparently the world was better off not knowing the full extent what went down, why Eridan was being shipped off to Rainbow Falls for heavy incarceration, and exact truth of _how_ Mr. Rosewater and Mrs. Brooks were killed.

You were angry when the letter, detailing the fabricated story, arrived at four-thirteen. Miss Pyrope, on the other hand, was coolly resigned, simply folding the letter and stashing it in a drawer behind her desk with other, similarly folded pieces of parchment.

“I’m just glad it’s over.” You add, perfectly honest. You get the feeling that Rose has looked up from her book again and is watching you, but you busy yourself with twiddling your thumbs in your lap, preferring not to meet her gaze. The finer elements of the librarian’s relationship with your boss are still rather dubious to you and while you’d love to tell her the real story, you’d rather Miss Pyrope be present instead of Kanaya.

“There’s one less dangerous criminal roaming the streets.” Kanaya agrees, folding her work neatly and draping it over her arms. “I’m going to run this into the back for a moment. Congratulations, John. You should have a brand new coat by the end of the week.”

“Awesome! Thanks again, Kanaya. I really appreciate it.”

She responds with a small curtsy, little more than a nod of her head, before sweeping from the room. A faint trail of some flowery perfume is left in her wake and you feel your head start to swim. Perhaps it’s a little too soon for you to be out and about. Your stitches itch something awful and ever since the incident under the church, your knee has suffered from brief spats of numbness, right now for instance.

Rising from your stool, you groan as your legs take your weight, and have to pause for a moment to allow your muscles to acclimate to actually having to do something. You brace yourself against your former seat and practice bending your leg a few times, battered knee brace creaking all the while like.

“Where did our youth go?” Rose reflects, watching you as she speaks. “Is it hiding behind our tired eyes, beneath our crooked bones? Are we so far gone that even twilight seems lost?”

You shoot her a glance, not particularly in the mood.

“Trying to seduce me with poetry, Rose?” You grunt, testing your step once more.

She smirks.

“I’m afraid not. Methods such as those rarely work away from the pages of passé novels of romance.” She closes her book, careful to mark her page, and rests it by her side. “Besides, I believe both of our hearts are spoken for at the moment.”

You shoot her another glance, _definitely_ not in the mood now. She just smiles though, the type of smile that simultaneously disarms you and mildly annoys you with just how smug it is. She and Dave truly are related.

Speak of the devil, the front door of the shop opens with the clinking of a bell, admitting in the one and only Dave Strider to rescue you from Rose’s scrutinous and slightly creepy gaze. He pauses on the threshold, looking between the pair of you quickly, then frowning.

“What the hell are you two doing?” He demands.

“We- nothing!” You exclaim just as Rose smoothly replies: “Whatever do you mean, brother dearest?”

Dave jabs a finger in your direction.

“You’re supposed to be in bed, Egbert. And you,” He indicates his sister next. “Don’t you have a library to run?”

“I took the day off. John needed a fitting.”

“Oh so that’s what they call _it_ nowadays.” Shaking his head and ignoring Rose’s and your icy gazes, he strides confidentially towards the counter, tossing a folded newspaper into your chest as he passes. “Well done, junior detective. You made the first page.”

“I didn’t know we had a newspaper.” Rose comments, slipping off the counter to read over your shoulder.

“That’s because we didn’t until today.” Reaching behind the counter, Dave helps himself to a jug of water, typically preserved for customers, and assumes a cool, leaning position against the furniture. “That, my friends, is the first edition of the _Crocker Chronicle_.”

Your interest beyond piqued, you quickly scan the first page of the newspaper. Below a large, bold title declaring this periodical to indeed be the work of Jane Crocker, is a horribly grainy black and white photo depicting, to your great surprise, none other than Jade Harley and Bec, standing together in the middle of Jade’s overflowing garden.

“Local gardener, Jade Harley, is on the fast track to swipe the coveted _‘largest gourd’_ award at the next country fair.” You read aloud. “Breaking the five-year stranglehold Ol’ Farmer Henry has held on the title and encouraging a new generation of green thumbs to pick up their troughs and hit the fields…”

“Oh shit. I’m sorry. Did I say first page?” Dave twirls his fingers, urging you to turn the paper. “I meant _second._ ”

“Local hero, Tavros Nitram, outs Eridan Ampora, a now former wealthy entrepreneur and owner of the famous silver church, as a smuggler of rare goods and technologies” Rose reads the second story. “Leading to his arrest by the Rainbow Falls law enforcement agency. While the majority of the details remain shrouded in mystery, Tavros’s courage shines clear as day, while Eridan faces trial and probable imprisonment at one of the highest-rated maximum security prisons this side of the Black Rock River because of his treachery…”

“Damn. Did I say second page?” Dave smirks. “I meant _you didn’t make the paper at all_ , Bro.”

“Why not?” You frown, quickly flipping through the rest of the paper. Sure enough, you find not a single blurb containing anything about Miss Pyrope or you, simply more on Jade’s farming techniques, a short recap of Mr. Rosewater and Mrs. Brooks funerals, a tribute to their lives, and other drivel. “I mean, good for Jade and Tavros, but geez. You ‘d think we’d be mentioned somewhere.”

“That’s not how this works, Egbert.” Dave explains. “You’ll figure it out soon enough. Good ol’ Jane can only report on what she’s figured out or what she’s been told, which when you think about it, really isn’t a whole of a lot.”

“I suppose.” Now that you think about it, you really can’t be salty about the way things turned out. Miss Pyrope went to Tavros that night for a reason and Jade really does deserve recognition about _something_ for the hell she went through. “I guess… I guess I’m just a little peeved that Terezi isn’t getting the credit she deserves.”

“Oh ho! It’s _Terezi_ now, huh?” Dave exchanges a look with Rose. “Took yall long enough to reach that first name basis with each other.

“Indeed. It’s a sad day when people must depend upon mutual trauma to form relationships.”

“Miss Pyrope and I are not in a… _relationship_ based on mutual trauma.” You argue, passing the newspaper to Rose. With your legs feeling a great deal steadier, you cross towards the door and snatch your coat and scarf from rack mounted on the wall. “We’re just like… coworkers. You know, _buddies_.”

“Undoubtedly.” Rose smiles like the chesire cat, but grows serious as you shrug on your old coat, mirth giving way to concern. “Do you need help getting home, John?”

“No I’m good.”

“Are you sure?” Dave prods, pushing off from the counter. “I need to stop by the grocery and you’re on my way.”

“I’m sure. I’ll catch you guys later, alright?” You give a quick wave as you pull open the door and slip outside. “Tell Kanaya thanks again for me, Rose.”

“Will do. You take care of-“

The rest of her sentence is cut off by the sharp _whapp_ of the door being shoved closed by the frigid, blistery wind. It’s snowing outside again, quite heavily in fact, so that the ground is soft and slippery underfoot. Shoving your hands into your pockets, you begin making your way back to four-thirteen, careful not to slip and bust your ass on the hard sidewalk.

You were rude back there and you know it. Rose and Dave like to tease, but they are still your friends, and it’s not like they said anything all that crude anyways. It’s just the implication that gets to you, the subtle looks and the snide comments. Your relationship with Miss Pyrope is just that: _yours_. It’s not anyone else’s business at all, not even slightly..

On the way home, you pass by Tavros’s shop. The typically vacant and rather dreary-looking front porch is currently abuzz with activity, with people swarming together like a horde of bees trying to get through the woefully narrow front doors. You pause to watch for a moment, an unnatural warmth blooming in your chest at the sight.

“It won’t last long.” A voice murmurs by your side. Turning, you see that Mayor Peixes has snuck up on you in the short time you’ve been standing still. “People will forget all about this in a week’s time, then we’ll be back to living life as we always have.”

“One day at a time?” You wonder.

“As boring as possible.” She corrects, smiling.

“Hmm.” You don’t really know what to say to that. Honestly, you’re a little caught off guard to see the mayor out and about like this. Back in your home town you were lucky if you knew the mayor’s full name, let alone what they looked like. Seeing Feferi out in the cold, like this, amongst the common folks, makes your appreciation for her grow that much more.

You suppose that you’re inclined to agree with her assessment. If you had the choice, a _boring_ life is preferable to the alternative: fickle, unsteady, _dangerous_.

Your sutures stretch as you exhale a puff of air that crystallizes immediately. Mayor Peixes must catch you wincing.

“Little soon to be running errands after what you’ve been through, don’t you think?” She prods.

“Maybe.” You rub at your nose under your glasses. “I’m heading home now though so, no need to worry.”

“Famous last words.” She cautions. Across the street, Tavros is furiously waving people out of his shop and attempting to close the door on them. Apparently the poor grocer is unprepared for such a swell in clientele. Through the fogged front windows, you can see numerous, pillaged shelves devoid of product. “Wish that was you, hmm?”

You look at the mayor again to see that she’s measuring your expression.

“No way.” You chuckle. “I couldn’t deal with the pressure of running my own store. I dunno how Tavros does it.”

“That’s not what I meant, John.” She indicates several members of the dispersing crowd, those of which are clutching the first edition of the Crocker Chronicle, most likely in an attempt to have Tavros impart on them his autograph. “It sure would be nice to be the hero for once, wouldn’t it?”

“I- I dunno.” And you really don’t.

“Are you upset that you and Terezi aren’t ever going to get that kind of treatment?” Feferi asks, smiling a knowing smile that honestly irks you a bit. “It’s alright, John. You can be honest with me.”

“You know what really happened then?” You ask, already assuming the answer.

“Of course I do.” She taps the thick, round rim of her glasses. “This is _my_ town after all.”

You let out a hoarse laugh, throat stinging painfully as you inhale falling snowflakes. The coils that had been accumulating in your chest seem to loosen a bit at the Mayors words. Still, you can’t help but blurt:

“So you’re okay with all of this then? With everyone in this town except like, _five_ of us being completely in the dark about everything?” Even as you speak, the words feel a bit petty, but you aren’t going to stop now. “It’s all a lie! And that’s not right. Miss Pyrope sticks her neck out for all these people one night and the next morning they’re still going to treat her like dirt!”

Mayor Peixes doesn’t react to your tirade, other than adopting a mildly amused frown, much like the one your father used to give you when you were having trouble understanding your homework. You don’t appreciate that look. It makes you feel young and stupid.

“I know that it doesn’t seem fair, John.” She begins what you recognize to be a well-rehearsed speech. “But look around you, look at all these people. They’re happy and safe, and Terezi and I can settle for that. Almost everything is better than the alternative” Reaching out, she rests a hand on your shoulder. “You’ll understand that soon enough.”

“Yeah, well, I’m real sick and tired of people telling me that- to be perfectly honest.”

“I bet.” She pats you once, twice, then pulls away. “Regardless.” She reaches into her pocket. “I trust that you’ll deliver this to the appropriate parties.”

She pulls a slim envelope and holds it out towards you. Cautiously, like the Mayor of Silverchurch would give you a package full man-eating spiders, you accept the package and peek inside.

“For services rendered.” She explains.

Quickly, as if you might get mugged on the spot, you fold the envelope and stash it inside your coat.

“Th- thank you.” You manage, tongue seemingly weighed down by the unfamiliar weight of cold hard cash in your breast pocket.

“Thank _you_ , Mr. Egbert.” She responds, giving you a quick wink and another smile, before stepping around you and walking away down the sidewalk.

* * *

It’s past sundown on a Tuesday night when it happens.

You’d managed to put it off for over a week. You were both a little unsure; a little scared of what could happen. She would always shy away and change the topic whenever the subject was broached. You would have to tread lightly, carefully, a little tug here, a slight nip there. It was as if this unseen pressure had been building ever since you first laid eyes on her and now it was finally reaching its crescendo.

Miss Pyrope sits on a stool, her slender back facing you, exposed and waiting for you to make your move. With trembling hands you reach forward and thread your fingers through her hair.

“Are you sure about this?” You ask for the last time.

“Yes, I’m sure.” She hisses.

“But, I-I’ve never done this before. What if I screw up?”

“It can’t be any worse than when I do it to myself.”

“Those are some famous last words if I _ever_ heard some.”

A sigh racks her body, starting in her chest and rumbling all the way up to her scalp, where her skin vibrates against that of your fingertips.

“You’re such a fretter, did I ever tell you that?”

“No, and I’m not!” You argue. “This is just a big commitment, is all. I don’t want you to do something that you’ll regret when you can easily get someone else to do it, someone with waaay more experience.”

“Why would I pay for this when I have my own personal slave to do it for free? Hehehe.” She counters.

“I’m not your slave. I just do whatever you want me to do, without question, basically for free.” It takes a few beats for what you just said to catch up with you. “Goddammit- I am your slave!”

“HAHAHAHAH!!!” She cackles, rocking on her seat. Quite subconsciously, your other hand comes to rest on her shoulder, lightly gripping the rather bony shoulder beneath the dark fabric, steadying her. That’s a mistake as it turns out; the slight pressure you apply shoots a flare of pain up your broken fingers, still in the healing process. You bite your tongue to prevent cursing. “You’re a regular riot, John Egbert. It’s times like these I remember why I keep you around.”

“Oh, you mean besides all the other times where I do the cooking, the cleaning, the shopping, the laundry, the bug-killing, and pretty much everything else for you?” Throwing all of that stuff in her face isn’t exactly fair, per say. To tell the truth, you picked up all of those tasks pretty much on our own after growing tired of the unmediated filth and despair four-thirteen seemed to be falling into under Miss Pyrope’s unchallenged rule.

“You do make a mean omelet.” The detective assents, rubbing at her chin. “Very well. I concede you that point. Now are we going to do this or not? I’m getting antsy over here.”

“Well, alright.” There’s no backing out now. Keeping your grip on her head, you retrieve your instrument with your other hand and grip it gingerly. You’re not lying when you say that you’ve never done this before. Why Miss Pyrope would trust you over a trained professional is sheer lunacy, barring laziness, paranoia, and a lack of funds.

The payment given to you by the Mayor went disturbingly fast.

Taking a deep breath, you steady yourself… and begin cutting.

Miss Pyrope’s hair reminds you of steel wool and the scissors in your hand aren’t exactly razor sharp, so you resort to a lot of hacking and sawing. You grimace as you encounter some furious knots, doing your best to untangle what you can and just avoiding the rest. Honestly, has she ever even _heard_ of conditioner?

“You are a mess.” You can’t help but murmur. Gently, you coax her head downwards so that you can snip at the split ends that rest just past the nape of her neck. “Kanaya should really be doing this.”

“Kanaya’s a nice girl, but the number of people I trust near my head with sharp objects is an incredibly small group that she sadly doesn’t have the membership of at this time.”

“Well, I’m flattered to have this honor then.”

“You- I wasn’t…” Under your hands, Miss Pyrope grows warm as she stammers. “I just know you won’t kill me because I sign your checks.”

“Mhmm.” It’s going quick now. You think you’re starting to get the hang of this. “Don’t talk so much. You keep squirming around and I’m going to mess up.”

“Eh. It doesn’t matter. You know I’ve been cutting my own hair for years, you don’t think I’ve screwed up more than a few do’s myself? Nobody cares anyways- I don’t care. Hair is replaceable, it grows back.” She folds her arms, doing her best to sit still. “I can’t even see it, so just as long as it doesn’t bother me, I don’t care. No sir, I don’t care at all.”

“Keep telling yourself that.”

“I most certainly will, thank you very much.”

You chuckle, but don’t reply for a time, too busy biting your own tongue and concentrating on your work. If this becomes a regular arrangement, you’re going to have to do a bit of research. You wonder if Rose has any books on hair-cutting or if Kanaya would be up for giving lessons.

The longer you work, the less Terezi is inclined to remain still. She sighs and crosses her legs, jiggling her foot through the air, before uncrossing them, then folding them again the opposite way. A weird nose comes from her throat as you work to untangle another knot, twirling her locks around your finger, a cross between a growl and a purr. You don’t know whether to be concerned or pleased to elicit such a noise from her.

Whether she’s pleased that she’s getting a much-needed groom or content to let you dote on her, you don’t know for sure. However, you can’t help but hope that it’s a bit of both.

“Not trying to impress anyone then?” You murmur after a while, half hoping that she won’t hear you. You lack such luck however.

“Ha!” She barks with laughter. You don’t have to look at her face to know she’s grinning. “Interesting question. I feel safe in assuming that you’ve never been complimented on your subtlety.”

“What are you talking about? That was hella smooth!”

“You’ve been spending too much time with Dave.” She brings her hand up to her forehead, exasperated. “To answer your question, no. There’s not a single person on this earth or any other who I am trying to impress…”

“I see.”

“… Because, John Egbert, I’ve already got _you_ so tightly wrapped around my finger, I’m scared the little sucker is going to suffocate and fall off.”

You nearly slice off her ear, but adjust your aim quickly, hacking off a rather large chunk of hair that by all accounts really shouldn’t have been trimmed. She doesn’t notice though, so you take a second to simply stare at the back of her head.

“So- so what? You’ve just been joshin with me this whole time, playing with my emotions, treating me like crap because you know how I… what I… um.” You suddenly find it hard to describe _what_ it is you feel. Luckily, Terezi has no such reservations.

“Oh, my dear assistant,” She swivels on her seat, craning her neck to face you. “You think _I’m_ the mess here? You’re so broken you can’t even finish that sentence.”

“I’m not broken.” You’re still cradling her head in your hands, preventing your hands from shaking.

“Yeah, you are.”

“No, I’m _not_.”

“Uh-huh.”

“No.”

“Yes!” Either she doesn’t notice or she doesn’t react as your grip on her hair tightens. You barely notice yourself. “You’re a broken boy, John Egbert, and there’s nothing wrong with that.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, but I doooo.”

“Shut up.”

“Make me- mmph!!” She’s effectively silenced as you smush your lips against hers.

It’s awkward and weird. Her neck is bent at a sharp angle, nose pointed up and backwards, as your own head is forced down into this sharp, super uncomfortable bowing position. Her lips are chapped to hell, your glasses are slipping off of your face, but as she leans backwards until she’s flush against your chest, you can’t find yourself capable of giving a damn.

She’s not wearing her sunglasses, having removed them before this whole operation began, so when you pull away after what feels like an eternity (and yet no time at all) you can see her pale blue eyes staring up at you, directly meeting their mark for once. She’s beautiful in that moment and precious, even _happy_ , if you were to be so bold.

Terezi is smiling and you’re smiling too.

Then her face falls. She doesn’t reach full-blown levels of frowning, but nests somewhere around melancholy. You know, before she even opens her mouth, that you’d rather kiss her again then hear what she has to say.

“I- I think…” She swallows, licks her lips. “I’m going to have to let you go.”

You blink at her, confused.

“What?”

“You’re fired.”

There’s a terse second where you don’t exactly know what to say. She looks a little nonplussed as well, simply looking up at you, eyes somewhat glazed.

“I beg your pardon?” You want to laugh; you want to scream at her. “What do you mean I’m ‘ _fired’_?”

“I mean that you don’t work for me anymore. You’re fired. “

“Wha??”

How had things turned so quickly?

Wordlessly, she nudges you away and bounces up from her stool, slipping out of your embrace as if she had never been there in the first place. As you’re still attempting to process what has/is transpiring she darts out of the sitting room and out into the hall. You’re left standing there, shocked, for a few moments until she briefly reappears.

“Pack your things and be gone by tomorrow morning please.” She says flatly, before sliding out of sight again, her misshapen and partially cut hair swishing after her.

***

Aradia is upstairs in your room when you finally manage to climb the stairs. Without consulting anyone, least of all _you_ , the specter had decided to permanently make herself at home amidst the rafters above your bed, even bringing along some of her paltry personal effects from the silver church to make the space more homely. Including but not limited to: a dead mouse, a collection of rusted nails, and an old doll that looks a little bit too much like Nosferatu for your liking.

You sink onto your cot, unaware that you’re still clutching the scissors dumbly in your hand.

She floats down right in front of you, taking in your appearance like one would read an excerpt from a pamphlet about tax returns. Regardless, you’re not in the mood to be scrutinized.

“Can I help you?” You ask, examining your hole-ridden sheets intently.

“You seem upset, John.”

“Ugh.” You fall back, splaying yourself on the uncomfortable furniture.

“Did you tell the detective how you feel?”

You throw your arm over your eyes, caught between wanting to be alone and not wanting to be rude to your friend.

“She rejected you, didn’t she?” Aradia continues. “That’s disappointing to hear. It’s quite obvious that you have flushed feelings for her.”

“I don’t have _any_ feelings for Miss Pyrope.” You grumble. “She’s weird and confusing and insane and reckless and disgusting and… dumb, just really dumb…”

There’s a silence then, only punctuated by your breathing, as you lie on your back, staring at the darkness behind your eyelids. Aradia seems to be thinking, or giving you the opportunity to finish your thought at the very least. Eventually, she asks:

“What are you going to do?”

“Me?” You peek under your arm to look at her. “I’m leaving.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” Then stronger: “Yeah!”

Pushing yourself up, you cast about for your suitcase. It’s wedged firmly in the closet, but after some finagling, you manage to get it free. A piece of rotten doorframe and a shower of dust come with it, but you don’t care at the moment. You’re sick and tired of this shit, and if Miss Pyrope is going to keep playing you like a flute, then you really see no reason to put up with it anymore.

You’re fired up, all set to make a big show of storming out of this terrible house, condemning the treacherous detective to a life of loneliness and regret. She’ll figure out how much she screwed up when you’re gone, but by then it will be too late. You’re done.

“Kiss me, boss me around.” You’re half-aware that you’re grumbling nonsense under your breath. “She’ll regret this. Oh man. She has _no_ idea.”

“Where will you go?” Aradia asks. You’d almost forgotten she was there.

Heaving your suitcase onto your bed, you flip it open and began throwing any and everything you can reach into it.

“I’ll head south.” You decide. “Somewhere warm and _normal_ and far away.”

“What about your friends?”

Your suitcase won’t close, no matter how hard you slam the lid. Thrusting it open again, you search for what could be the problem and see that something is caught lodged between the hinges: your magic kit. Yanking the toy free, you toss it indiscriminately over your shoulder and finally manage to get the case closed.

“They’ll understand.” You reason, thoughts of Rose and Dave and Jade eclipsed by red. “They won’t blame me for skipping out on town, not after she _fired_ me for no good reason.”

“Sounds like to me that you’re giving up to easily.” Aradia comments dryly.

Whirling, you glare at the ghost, beyond incredulous. Giving up easily?? More like the exact opposite, you’ve been through hell and back! She doesn’t know what she’s talking about. You’ve paid your dues a billion times over.

“I’m not giving up easy!” You seethe, near shouting. Angrily, you wave your hand in front of Aradia’s face, showing her the bandaged and crooked fingers on your hand. “I’ve given my blood, sweat, and tears for this damn job! I’ve been beaten, stabbed, chewed on, humiliated, totally shit on and I’ve never asked anything in return! She kissed me first! She made me- made me feel these _things_ and now, at the drop of a hat, I’m cut out! Don’t tell me that this is all _my_ fault!!”

You’re getting lightheaded and have to breath twice as hard and often to make up for lost breath. Despite the draftiness of four-thirteen you feel like the small bedroom is positively sweltering, heat so intense that you just might pass out for the umpteenth time. Aradia, to her credit, regards you unperturbedly.

“All that material stuff will only get you so far, John.” She continues to lecture. “You never answered my question, did you tell the detective how you feel about her?”

“I- no. NO, I didn’t! I shouldn’t have to! She knows how I feel, _everybody_ knows apparently.” You catch yourself. “Wait, what I mean is… There are no feelings. She’s rude and I don’t like her- I don’t…”

You put a hand to your head, as if that will keep your vision from swimming. Stumbling backwards, your legs encounter your cot and you sink backwards onto the furniture once more. You want to cry and scream and _hit_ something. You don’t like this feeling, this pain in your chest. The urge to act out is almost unbearable.

“I wasn’t always dead.” Aradia points out idly. “There was a time where I used to be a lot like you.”

“Please.” You beg. “Don’t start this.”

You don’t want to hear it. You don’t want to hear her speech. Dragging a hand down your face, you look up to meet Aradia’s dead gaze. Despite her words, it’s hard to imagine the woman with blood pumping through her veins. Still, you can’t help but try anyways, picturing her skin with a healthy tan and her eyes as dark brown instead of milky white.

“Whether you chose to believe me or not, I think that I know more about missed opportunities than most people, dead or otherwise.” She continues. “As an unbiased third party, I suggest that you think things through before you proceed. The detective is scared and you aren’t doing much of anything to help.”

“What do you mean?” You ask, but Aradia doesn’t answer. Instead she drifts up through the rafters and out of sight, leaving you alone for the time being.

You look at your suitcase, packed and ready to go by your side, then you look towards the door.

You find her on the third floor. You’ve never been up here before, always just considering it to be some spare attic space full of spiders and other crap that you really didn’t want to deal with. Miss Pyrope has mentioned more than once that she had a garden up here, but what _kind_ of garden had always escaped her mention.

As you climb the stairs, you find yourself faced with a wood door, a faint bluish glow shining from beneath the door.

“I’m too old for this shit.” You grumble under your breath. Yet, you push the door open anyways.

It glides on well-oiled hinges, opening up onto one of the stranger things you’ve ever seen upon arriving in the town of Silverchurch. The ceiling is the most noticeable thing, mainly comprising of a skylight whose glass has been stained a soft blue. Moonlight filters through to the room below, dancing on the drifting snowflakes and creating the glow you saw from the stairs.

The ground beneath your shoes is earthy and soft, scattered grass and flowers dot the ground like fuzzy rugs and, in the very center of the room, a tree no taller than your hip sprouts upwards, yearning to touch the moon so far above. Miss Pyrope sits on a wooden bench, tortured hair and all, silently facing the tree and looking just about as mysterious and enchanting as she ever did.

You want to cough and announce your presence, maybe open with a joke, or demand an explanation for all this weird stuff up here. You’re beyond curious. Is this some kind of magic room? Are these plants grown and tended to by tiny, microscopic fairies? Did Miss Pyrope save the little tree from extinction by transplanting it up here? Were these plants gifts from an exotic land, given to her as an award for solving some perilous and striking mystery?

You want to know and you’re sure she would tell you if you asked. You keep your peace though.

Instead, you simply sit by her side and wait for her to notice you. Of course, she knew you were there before you even set foot in the room, as soon as the door was opened even. Still, you think letting her make the first move is the courteous thing to do.

However, Terezi doesn’t ever say anything, but shifts sideways and slumps against you. Her shoulder is bony and sharp, but the weight is comfortable and more reassuring than any words she could have said. And yet, if you looked at her face right now, at this very moment, you’d see dark circles tattooed under her eyes and a frown so deep, you think it might stretch down to her very soul.

How’s that for poetry, you think to yourself.

She doesn’t say she’s sorry or that you aren’t fired. Her thin, nobly fingers reach around and press against your side. You breathe in sharply as her nails dig slightly into your tender wound and her touch softens considerably.

A grin stretches her lips and her sharp teeth glow blue in the dim light. She knows then that you’re still (remarkably) alive, and while that simple thought might not be enough to put her completely at ease, you think it’s enough to lessen some of that fear of hers. You press a tentative kiss to her crown, thinking to yourself that maybe Aradia just might know what she’s talking about after all.

Unbeknownst to both you and the detective, the specter herself drifts in the fringes of the inexplicable garden, a small smile on her silver face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well my friends, this is the end. Um… I always have trouble thinking of things to say when I finish stories like this. I guess it’s always safe to say that you guys, that is everyone that read/supported this story, really made it worth while and it means a lot that you’d take the time to read what I’ve put out, no matter how poorly executed lol If you could give me some final thoughts on the story, i’d appreciate it. Any questions? I’d be happy to answer! It’s the least I could do :) That all being said, I don’t think I’m quite done with this AU. I have some plans for some one-shots set in this universe, maybe dealing with some topics I only brushed on in this story or maybe characters that weren’t fleshed out as much as I liked. We’ll see. I’m always accepting prompts anyways. Sorry for the long delays on these final chapters, by the way lol hopefully the fact that this chapter is the longest ever makes up for that a bit.
> 
> Thanks for reading. Keep writing out there, you writers, you.  
> \- Mike


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